


Bless Your Pain

by DarkmoonBoar



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Angst, Blood Kink, Fantasizing, Frotting, Hand Jobs, Hawkwood being Hawkwood, Late game Dark Souls 3 spoilers, Later chapters will have violence, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sadomasochism, and sex, creative use of estus, dragon form kink, intercural sex, the slightest of canon divergences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:32:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 74,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonBoar/pseuds/DarkmoonBoar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkwood the Deserter finds himself attracted and drawn to the Ashen One. Very, very attracted. Over the course of the Ashen One's journey to round up the Lords of Cinder, they become close, especially after Hawkwood helps him take down a certain mad dragon-man. It almost ends in tragedy. Almost. Particularly the part where Hawkwood tries to kill him for a Twinkling Dragon Head Stone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Suffer Well

Hawkwood sat upon the stairs of the Firelink Shrine, his head held low, sighing deeply. He didn't ask for the tolling of the bell to wake him from his long slumber after he had deserted the Undead Legion of Farron and failed to uphold his duty of linking the First Flame. Hell, he didn't ask to be Undead, and later, Unkindled, either. Didn't ask for any of this. Of course, he knew he wasn't the only one roused from the graves. There would be more. Oh, yes. More of the hapless and damned.

Forcefully dragged out of his thoughts, he heard faint, cautious steps behind him, then heard someone clear his throat behind and beside him. A pleasant, refined tenor broke the silence, his accent thick.

"Ah, yes, I suppose you are friendly?"

The deserter craned his head and looked up. Standing before him was an elegantly tall, pale man, with high, chiseled cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a broad chin, his face accented with a thick, wavy shock of an almost black deep brown hair that framed it elegantly and eyes as dark as coal. Musing to himself, the other man noted he looked like he could have been a noble prior to becoming Undead, but on the other hand, he was garbed in the somewhat ratty soft black leather of an assassin. After all, sons of nobles usually didn't become assassins. They had everything fed to them with a silver spoon, and the work of assassins was unsavory and dangerous. So, perhaps a noble's bastard child, then. His lips were drawn into a small, amicable smile, a smile that Hawkwood both loathed and found hopelessly adorable.

The edges of the Deserter's mouth curled up in a sardonic grin, and a chuckle rumbled quietly in his throat. With his arms not resting far from his knees, and breaking the eye contact with the newly awoken Unkindled, he replied, his voice echoing in the cavernous Firelink Shrine.

"Ahh, another one, roused from the sleep of death? Well, you're not alone. We Unkindled are worthless. Can't even die right." For a beat, he snorted. "Gives me conniptions. And they'd have us seek the Lords of Cinder, and return them to their molding thrones. But we're talking true legends with the mettle to link the fire." He drew in a breath. "We're not fit to lick their boots." Again, a pause. "Don't you think?" he added, chuckling cynically.

The other Unkindled stopped smiling and lifted an eyebrow at the strange man before him. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little more than just a tad bit uncomfortable and unsure how to respond to the negativity. "Umm, err, I don't know, Sir....?" he asked, clearly hoping to get the name of the pessimistic man he was talking to. Hawkwood returned to looking up at the man, who seemed to be mostly legs. Very shapely legs, at that. Clearly lean muscled and probably blessing him with an ample arse. And while he was slender, he looked more than capable of defending himself. Probably looked great out of his armor. Focusing on the man's face, he hoped to curb those thoughts precipitating in his mind. Curtly, he replied, "Hawkwood, and I think you'll find that I'm no knight in shining armor." He let out a short ironical laugh.

Dropping down to sit close Hawkwood on the steps, the stranger replied, "I'm Adrian of Vinheim. I'm hardly a knight either." He grinned, and let out a genuine laugh. "I'm sure you can see that, though," he added, his teeth showing between his lips. They were a little thin, not terribly so but still, it's true, but they made him no less attractive. Because of that man's charming nature, it made Hawkwood's skin crawl, even more so because he seemed so sincere. There was no dark glint in his eyes, no hidden edge in his smile, no grave undertone in his speech, and it scared him all the more. Yes, as an Unkindled, there was little reason to mislead, there was no power to be had as Unkindled beyond linking the First Flame. What would be the point? And an assassin not shrouded in a web of intricate façade after intricate façade? Even more horrific. All the same, he just looked at the man with the same sullen expression, trying his best to look disinterested. "Just what this place needs," he sighed, "a cheerful professional killer, from an infamous land of scheming sorcerers, no less."

The once-Vinheim spook simply cocked his head, though the way his eyes lit up betrayed his amusement at the morose man before him. The way the flames flickered across his face entranced Hawkwood. The man before him scanned over him in innocent curiosity. "What were you? Before, I mean," he inquired, piercing through him with those inky, expressive, kind eyes. Gods damn it. He made eye contact for a brief moment, and Hawkwood felt his face get hot. He hoped that he hadn't turned red, because he felt like his face was thoroughly flushed. Glowing as hot as the bonfire, even. Gathering his composure, he replied, "I was a warrior of the Undead Legion of Farron, sworn to eliminate any and all traces of the Abyss." The other man shifted, laying his scimitar and staff at his other side, then laid his hands in his lap. He shifted his boots and ground the ash on the steps.

"But not a knight," Adrian interjected with a half-grin, mirth causing the corners of his eyes to crease. Hawkwood was beginning to suspect he was being flirted with. Best not to point out the obvious, and to ignore it. Forming attachments would only make it worse in the long run. The idealistic were all the easier to break and fall from grace. Oh, he knew that from experience. And he didn't want to get his hopes up on something that could be entirely in his head. For all he knew, the bloody assassin was bubbly and devilishly curious with everyone. Maybe he was, and maybe he was indiscriminate as to what he stuck his prick in, too. He had heard rumors about the sort of perversions the erudite sorcerors of Vinheim came up with, being cloistered in the Dragon School all the time waist deep in books and scrolls. Good thing all manner of Undead, Unkindled included, couldn't get any inflictions, even of the venereal kind, and while death was painful and frequent, it wasn't permanent. 

Hawkwood exhaled sharply. "Do you really think that you can bring the Lords to their thrones?" he asked frankly, his head pointed in the others direction but his eyes avoiding glancing at the face of the man. He heard the other man shift in position, the leather of his boots and armor squeaking, and clear his throat. Ahhhh, he could practically feel the mood change on the surface of his skin. Straightening out his garb, Adrian responded, "To be honest? I don't know. I don't pretend to know. I also don't particularly care. The way I see it, I can sit and wait for the end of the world or I can fight tooth and nail to fulfill my 'duty.' No offense." He paused. "I'm not saying I believe what that strange man Ludleth says. If my time in Vinheim taught me anything, it's that there's four sides to every story." The man's brow drew together pensively, and his expression became bothered.

Yet that didn't last long, because he looked up at the bonfire that was far in front of them with an almost surprised look, both his eyebrows lifted and his eyes wide. His lips were slightly parted. Must have had some sort of epiphany. Perfect. "I'm going to use the bonfire to make my way to Lothric. Might as well find out first hand what I'm in for," he declared with a determined, intense grin. He clenched a gloved fist together, then used both his hands to push himself to a squatting position. Standing up, he retrieved his weapon and staff, sheathing the curved blade and clipping the staff to his belt. Then, he faced Hawkwood, and gave him a somewhat dramatic, if graceful bow, saying, "I'll see you again, Hawkwood of Farron. Hopefully sooner than later. Err, hopefully not the result of dying." Adrian flashed him another smile and chuckled, and Hawkwood felt his heart beat in his throat and melt.

Hawkwood watched as the other Unkindled trod down the steps, noting the curvature of the other man's buttocks as well as the... generous bulge of his pants, and watched him hold his hand out over the flame and the coiled sword buried in the bosom of the bonfire and bones. The man disappeared right before his eyes in a flash, like the dancing embers and ash of the bonfire. Something told him he'd be seeing a lot more of the peculiarly chipper assassin. Whether due to failure or success, he didn't know, though a whisper in his mind wanted him to believe it would be failures. He bit his lip. He almost envied that naivete. Adrian was clearly younger, probably no older his mid thirties when he turned. He'd be beautiful and spry forever. Not that he himself was that old but. Well. Hawkwood had been around long enough and experienced enough to lose every bit of youthful aspiration he had. In truth, he had given up, and that made him look older, feel older, than he actually was. Once, he had aspirations, he had hope. He had wanted to change the world, by joining the Undead Legion to wipe out the Abyss for good. 

But along the way, he slaughtered entire towns to get rid of the rot. And, sometimes this meant killing his own, those had been tainted by the Abyss themselves or those who had finally gone Hollow. Sometimes multiple times. He remembered all their faces, and frequently saw them as he slept. Sometimes, he didn't remember their names... but gods, their faces. Seeing the once bright eyes of a companion... or a lover... go dark and vacant, full of vacuous hatred, unable to recognize those they attacked... that brought him to his knees. Even thought it was eventually the fate of all Undead, he never got used to it. Not the way he had "gotten used to" the pain of dying again and rising again and again, unmarked and breathing but the mind and body never forget. Not really. So, one night, before the Legion had linked the flame, he ran away, never to return. And somehow, despite his broken faith and resolve, he hadn't Hollowed himself, but almost wish he had. Well, that, or never had risen as Unkindled, and had stayed dead as mere derelict ash. For once. And he tried, oh but he tried, to not feel sorry for himself. If there was any lesson to be learned from his time being a part of the Legion, it was that every day meant one was closer to ruin, and sometimes the only way to be saved was a sword through the chest, or one to the neck.

That night, he decided to take his bedroll to one of the top layers of the shrine, away from eyeless gaze of the crown shrouded Fire Keeper and of the constantly vigilant Ludleth. He was in nothing but a loincloth, laying under a somewhat scratchy but warm enough blanket. His thoughts had drifted back to the other Unkindled, particularly the way the light of the bonfire had flickered in those deer-like eyes, how they lit up one side of his face and hair orange and red, how it made his smile look so scintillating. Of course, then he thought about the way the inside of his mouth must feel, warm, soft, inviting, and how it would feel to touch their tongues together. The hairs on his neck stood on end, and he closed his eyes, biting his bottom lip, one of his hands digging beneath the band of his loincloth and grabbing hold of his hardening cock. Hawkwood's mind went wild, forming theories on what lie beneath those leather garments, how soft and supple he must be underneath it all, on whether he was hairless or hirsute, or somewhere in between.

When his mind went to thinking about how even under that thick armor he wore, on he could quite plainly see how blessed that man was when it came to both his rear end and his crotch, he began to slowly stroke his still somewhat flaccid member. Visions of himself on his knees, eagerly taking Adrian's cock into his mouth like it was a sacred vow, flooded his mind, and he arched his back in response, his toes curling. Gods, he didn't want to admit it, but he wanted to fuck him, be fucked by him. It didn't matter either way, he wanted the assassin any way he could take him. Another image, of being bent over the railings of the top floor of Firelink and savagely impaled by the man from Vinheim flashed in his head. Or maybe the wily sorcerer liked to bottom? Oh, he'd like that too, to vigorously facefuck that incorrigibly friendly man until he gagged and nearly vomited, thick mucus and saliva drooled down his lips and his dimpled chin in a most satisfyingly degrading way. Or to grab that luscious hair and pull until the man groaned, face contorting in pain and pleasure, and clamp his teeth down hard on his shoulder as he briskly thrust into him.

By now, he was ruthlessly hard and throbbing, and began to pump his cock with his hand in a frantic pace in time with his frantic carnal thoughts. Every beat was met with his pelvis thrusting upwards into his hand. He hadn't felt like this in ages. Beads, then rivulets, of sweat began to form on his forehead, in between his inner thighs and crotch, and in between the cheeks of his ass, and soon his bedroll was lightly damp. The air, both under the embrace of the bedroll and the air of the shrine, felt almost oppressively hot. A part of him didn't care that he was panting a little loud, though if he was attracting any attention, they didn't seem to say or otherwise bother him. The nights were usually quiet, other than the ever present crackling of the bonfire. Idly, while rubbing the head of his cock with his palm, using his own aroused fluids to lubricate, he wondered if he'd see him tonight. Probably not, he hadn't appeared in hours, not since he had made his way to the Shrine from his grave. Oh, how scandalous would be it be for the assassin to warp into the Firelink Shrine while Hawkwood moaned his name like a desperate prayer. The thought of being caught thrilled him.

He couldn't help but recall his favorite encounter with his first lover, Alexander, and how they made love under the azure blue sky in the bold green swordgrass... back when Farron had fields, and wasn't a sludgy swamp wasteland. He remembered the lingering scents on his leathers as he took them off and nibbled on his copper colored clavicles. Alexander smiled and clung to him, his hands sliding down to Hawkwood's leggings, reaching to release the man's groin from the shackles of clothing. And he buried his nose in his curly of a dark brown red, sighing as he felt warm, full lips wrap around his hardened member. He remembered taking off his chest armor and gauntlets as his partner engulfed his cock to the hilt, the other man's nose down to his undone but still very much on leg armor. Impatient, he kicked off his boots and ran his hands through the other man's hair, his eyes closing in bliss. Then, he spoke to him, softly telling him he wanted to take them both in hand and rock up against him. All their armor and clothes came off, and he gently bit Alexander's lips as he ran his hands over his body, down to their crotches that were slotted together and began to thrust against him. 

It was one of his favorite memories, pure and unfettered. Of course, there were more memories, many much more perverse and depraved. Yet, it remained one of the few he almost always went back to when he masturbated. Young love was not so easily forgotten. And even though he had plenty of other encounters that held almost as much meaning. especially within the Legion, it was his first time with another man. Before he had lain with Alexander, the thought of being taken by another man seemed inglorious, although he couldn't remember why. Probably just some quirk of his upbringing, which he barely remembered, heh. There was something about the Undead Legion that led itself towards an acceptance of polymorphic perversities, of multitudes of sexualities and pairings. Probably the whole being a group of loathed and feared people thing. Plus, the whole Abyss watching thing and the intense training tended to make one want for more pleasurable experiences of the flesh, and reminder that existence was more than death and being cursed to walk the earth cognizant of the looming presence of death. Heh. Existential crises did tend to warp one's lust into something stranger, something eldritch.

He wondered if the assassin felt the same way about being a dealer of death, too. The cheerfulness had to be a mask for deep, profound pain that he could soothe with his lips, tongue, and teeth. And maybe this stranger could fill the void in his heart and soul, make him feel alive, if for just one more brief moment. Simply, he just wanted to feel sanctuary in another's arms, one last time, before he surely became forgotten white ash in a bonfire. Or, before losing himself completely, becoming a mad Hollow. It was sad, wasn't it? Fearing living forever eternal, or dying a final death suddenly, without warning, again, to never rise or feel again. These thoughts, on the contrary, didn't make him stop stroking his twitching, veiny cock. It made him all that more anxious for release. With closed eyes, he smirked. In a very odd sense, what he was doing to his body, while he thought, partly lustfully and part longingly, of Adrian, was a controllable, small, painless death. Funny how death and sex could be so related.

When he finally reached his climax, his legs and feet flattened out and stiffened, and he softly whispered, "Adrian..." His body jerked almost violently as he stroked his cock just a little bit longer after spending himself, and it almost hurt. He thought of suffering through it until his refractory period ended, despite the fact the intense orgasm left him feeling almost powerless, but he quickly quashed it. Instead of softening completely, he was still hard, not helped at all by the fact he couldn't get lustful images out of his head. No matter. His breath was ragged, he was covered in sweat, and he was more tired than he had been in... well, truly, he didn't know. Several months, at the very least. At this point, he was much too exhausted to care that he was now laying in his own sweat, his loincloth covered in semen, and that his 'bed' smelt heavily of sex. Closing his eyes, he thought about all the future possibilities. Perhaps he'd see the assassin again. Yes, he hoped he would. Maybe they could even be friends, anything more than just incidental acquaintances bound together by the same wretched fate.

Hawkwood fell asleep on his side, curled up slightly, wishing he had arms around him to chase away the melancholy.


	2. Deep Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Unkindled One comes back from the High Wall of Lothric Castle and asks Hawkwood where to go next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much less sexual than the last one, but I promise, there will be smut in later chapters. As usual, it's third person but focused way more on Hawkwood's perspective.
> 
> Fun fact: I didn't even know Orbeck existed until I had finished more than half the game so the fact that my Unkindled One is a dark haired pale Vinheim assassin is a hilarious coincidence.

Hawkwood had just barely put on his leathers and resumed his usual spot at sitting near the foot of the right side stairs, up to the vacant thrones where the Watchers of the Abyss and Yhorm the Giant were supposed to sit when Adrian phased in, dark circles under his eyes and blood covering his assassin leathers. He was panting, tightly clutching his scimitar, near-black blood dripping from the blade's end. Faintly glowing orange liquid covered his lips, and he licked them absentmindedly, before sheathing his scimitar and walking towards the Fire Keeper who was standing in the archway to Andre and the Handmaiden. The man asked the Fire Keeper to add the sovereignless souls he had collected over the course of his time at the High Wall of Lothric to strength him; then, the Fire Keeper said a prayer, light emanating from her hands while the assassin knelt, then he stood, smiling faintly at her and bowing. Then, apparently feeling Hawkwood's gaze, he turned towards him and slowly trotted his way over.

"I killed some horrible, grotesque man beast and got a banner to raise to head my way to the Undead Settlement. Not sure how that helps me right now but.... Well, obviously, I'm still kicking, and I haven't given up, no, not yet," he said proudly, wearing another one of his unbearably sunny grins, eyes twinkling, and his right arm resting on his right hip. The acoustics of the room made his voice seem even warmer and larger than life. It made the hair on the back of Hawkwood's neck stand on end, and he had to admit, Adrian's voice had a pleasant musical quality to it. It was certainly better than listening to Andre hammer on his anvil for hours on end, that's for sure. He barely lifted his head to speak to him, his voice laced with sarcastic cynicism and his hands twitching and gesturing with every word.

"Oooh, yet to give in, eh? The Fire Keeper must be twitching with delight. But what do you really know about these Lords of Cinder, these supposed legends? Let's take Aldrich, for one. A right and proper cleric, only... he developed a habit of devouring men. He ate so many that he bloated like a drowned pig, then softened into sludge, so they stuck him in the Cathedral of the Deep. And they made him a Lord of Cinder. Not for virtue, but for might. Such is a lord, I suppose. But here I ask: Do we have a sodding chance?" He let out a trenchant, derisive laugh, his hands relaxing in his lap.

Cocking an eyebrow, the clandestine sorcerer frowned and replied, "Well, perhaps. It would certainly help my cause if you would give me some useful information." He folded his arms, and tapped his left foot on the ashen ground. Seeing Adrian impatient and frustrated thrilled him. Anything to shut down that infectious, pernicious bubbliness. He'd have to hide a triumphant grin, as well as the eagerness in his voice. Tilting his head to actually look the man in the face, Hawkwood then added, "At the foot of Lothric Castle, an old path still runs below the tower in the Undead Settlement. It was used to transport sacrifices to the Cathedral of the Deep. You should see where it leads.... If you've the stones for it." He let out another throaty laugh thickly laced and jagged with bitterness and irony, his eyes catching the other man's stare. Adrian's arms dropped to his side, and his expression relaxed.

"Very well then, I appreciate your cooperation, Hawkwood," he replied, sighing. The man yawned loudly, barely having time to cover his mouth, albeit poorly as his body shook with the strain. Stretching, he then half-mumbled in a creaky voice, "I'm going to sleep for a couple hours. I'm tired and sore after fighting my way through the High Wall." Adrian grumbled a little incoherently, then added, "I did manage to find and release this small, older man, you might have seem him skittering about. His name is Greirat, and well... he's a thief, I won't lie, but I doubt he'd be brainless enough to steal anything from around here. Seems like a nice guy though, even if he has sticky fingers." The assassin punctuated this by holding up one of his hands and twirling his fingers about. Hawkwood rested his head on his right fist, propped up on his knee. Adrian had almost turned around completely to go off and find somewhere to rest when he cleared his throat.

"I imagine you don't want to sleep on bare stone, now do you, Adrian of Vinheim?" he asked, his voice free of any ounce of sourness, forcing his countenance to be neutral, trying to hide his eagerness, hide his attraction, to avoid coming off as anything more than incidentally helpful. Stopping, the other man looked over his left shoulder. There was a slight pause before he made any response. For a moment, Hawkwood worried that he came off too willing. Adrian clenched his fists. "No, I can't say that I do. What's your point?" he questioned, a swathe of confusion clearly written on his face with a wrinkled brow. The other man curled his toes within his boots, not wanting his anxiety to become too apparent. His heart felt like it was beating a thousand times a minute, and his throat had all but dried.

Swallowing what little saliva was in his parched mouth, he calmly stated, "I have a spare bedroll you can borrow. Just make sure to give it back in one piece. It's up on the very top floor on the left, rolled up. I'd prefer to get it back before tonight because my other one is out drying after being cleansed." The assassin had turned completely around, and smirked at Hawkwood, chuckling. Nodding silently, he trudged off to retrieve it, clearly wanting to run but far too tired to do anything more than a leisurely pace. The steps he took faintly echoed on the store, their rhythm steady and melodic. Hawkwood's eyes followed the man up the other set of stairs up to the highest stairs; Adrian seemed entirely too focused to notice he was being watched. Or maybe he just didn't care because he was so tired at that point. Given his previous profession, probably the later, Hawkwood mused. Still, best not to make too many hasty assumptions about whether his attention was welcome.

He watched Adrian bend over (good gods what an ass), retrieve the bedroll, then walk down the stairs up to the other high alcove, flap it out, and sit down, his legs off to the side. The man took off his boots, flinging them to the side, and set his weapon and staff down, but didn't even bother taking off any of his armor before slipping into the covers and rather quickly falling asleep. After a couple minutes of no activity, Hawkwood heard him gently snore, only barely audible over the other noises in Firelink, not that one didn't quickly adjust to them and tune them out. From this angle, he couldn't really see that much of the sorcerer anymore, and was loath to stand up and even walk to get a better view. Not for perversity's sake, but because he was curious how relaxed and serene the man was when sleeping. No doubt, the assassin had keen senses and was a shallow sleeper; he'd wake up and put that curved blade to his throat before one could murmur his name in shame. Instead, he'd just sit here... with that thought, and his longing. Not to have sex, but just a longing to even be held. Even before it had all come to this, he was lonely, and with the world old and begging to die, it had made the ache to burn within another's heart all that more keen.

After sitting for a few moments, Hawkwood shoved himself off the ground, deciding he'd get his mind off his sorry state and practice his swordmanship on the Hollows around the graveyard before paying respects to Alexander. It felt cruel to slaughter the Hollows, as they usually didn't even bother him, but well, he just wanted to slip into denial for a scant hour or two. The Fire Keeper looked in his direction as he stormed off, clutching his bastard sword in one hand and his shield in the other. His eyes hurt as they adjusted to the brightness of the outside. Yet, despite the light, outside felt gloomy, the sky was gray with clouds, almost dusty or ashy looking. Any actual sky that managed to peak through was desaturated, and not even close to being blue in hue.

The Hollows along the path to where Iudex Gundyr once guarded the way to the shrine didn't stand a chance against the swing of his bastard sword, their inhuman cries as they died curdling his blood. He tried not to sweat too much, get blood on himself too much, but he needed to bathe anyway, what, after sweating so much and letting his spend just sit in his crotch hair like some kind of beast. Just thinking about it made him cringe. At least Adrian had kept distance from him, as well as everyone else for that matter. No doubt, he definitely smelled like had had exerted himself last night, at the very least. Yes, he'd definitely take a dip in one of the creeks that littered the Cemetery of Ash and use some soap, while he was at it. Alexander, if he were here, would no doubt disapprove.

He made his way past the Iudex Gundyr bonfire, splashing through the clear water, disturbing it and causing it to turn gray. The group of Hollows outside the archway leading both in and out of the crumbled arena barely had time to register what was going on when their bodies were cleaved messily by the sword. Hawkwood's shield managed to prevent a good portion of the blood splatter from getting on his armor and skin. Still, a few drops of blood here and there managed to spray across his face, as well as a bit on his right gauntlet, the one he used to swing the sword. Which, of course, was no big surprise. He fought his way up a hill and back to the very place where he, and Adrian as well, most likely, rose from their graves. There, he would find a stream to wash himself in.

After channeling his sexual frustration into rage and violence towards the Hollows, Hawkwood went back to rummage through his belongings left where he had slept the previous night. Grabbing a small, ivory bar of lye soap, he slid it into a rucksack he slung across his shoulders, as well as a cloth that served as a towel. He cut a few more Hollows along the way to the streams at the very beginning of the Cemetery, not far from where a Ravenous Crystal Lizard slumbered. He made sure to stay away even though he could probably take the grotesque creature on. However, he had no intentions of fighting it at the time being, plus all he wanted was to just be clean. So there he took off his clothing and rucksack, set them on a flat, dry boulder with the towel on top, and began to scrub his skin and his short, brown hair with the soap. The task was quick and automatic. His loins didn't even stir when he lathered up his rear, especially between the cheeks where the sweat liked to pool, or when he scrubbed his bush trying to get every last bit of dried semen out. When he felt he was sufficiently clean, he waded over to his belongings, stepped onto another rocky outcrop, and began to dry himself. After making sure his skin was as dry as possible, he made with the arduous task of getting leather armor on after being wet. Picking up his bastard sword and resting it over the shoulder he didn't have the rucksack on, he made his way back to Firelink in order to do his daily prayer in front of the headstone.

Kneeling over it and silent, he wordlessly wished the void left in his soul would vanish. He stared into the Farron Greatsword resting against the grave before him; it wasn't Alexander's, it was his own, and it would have to do. He had done this every day since the bell had tolled to wake the Unkindled. Hawkwood would come here and kneel motionless for hours in an almost meditation-like state. It only felt right. The Alexander he knew was gone, and if he had risen at all with the rest of the Undead Legion, then he had abandoned his shared throne with the others. Or, he remained Hollow somewhere, likely so Hollowed that he couldn't even move. Regardless, the man as he once was no longer existed. It was all a curse, the Darksign, hell, even being living was a curse, as was the Cycle itself.

As he was about to get up, he heard the telltale crunching of feet behind him, and a soft gasp. He looked behind him. Of course, who else would it be, but the doe-eyed assassin, looking at him apologetic and sad underneath his hood? Apparently, he had lost track of time, especially if the way the sun sat in the sky was right behind the clouds. The man before him stuttered, "I did- I'm sorry to disturb you. Forgive me." Hawkwood sighed. A grim, sad smile crept across his face, though at this angle Adrian would barely be able to see it. "The poor, wretched souls... Be they lord or legend, the curse shows no mercy. What a sham." Lifting himself from his knees, he turned to face Adrian and simply gave him a weary look. It froze the assassin firmly in place, his eyes locking with Hawkwood's. Finally, after a moment or two of cumbersome silence, the taller man quietly said, "I know. I'll leave you to your peace." Adrian turned, then left, leaving the deserter alone to his thoughts again. Spending a few more minutes outside knelt before the grave, he then followed Adrian inside to sit in his usual spot.

The assassin had gone elsewhere, his boots splish splashing in the gathered water in the lower parts of the shrine. Hawkwood could hear it from where he sat, and could just make out him speaking to a voice he didn't recognize. After a bit of straining, he could finally decipher the words.

"...And don't forget out promise. Give the ring to old Loretta at the base of the High Wall. A nuisance, I know, but it'll help me tie up loose ends."

"Of course, Greirat. A promise is a promise."

Boots sloshed more through water, and they padded on stone, until he saw Adrian turn the corner, his eyes focused on the bonfire. He walked up to it, and looked at Hawkwood. "Oh, you'll see me again," he said loud enough for Hawkwood to hear, flashing him a mischievous, toothy grin, "Sooner, rather than later. Unkindled still need their sleep, and a nap isn't a full night's rest. I think you'll be seeing a lot more of me, Hawkwood of Farron." He could have swore the man winked just as he vanished into the swirling smoke, ash, and embers of the flame. Could have just been his imagination. Probably. Maybe. Well. He felt his face and the tips of his ears grow warmer and pinker; his heart desperately pounded inside his chest yet again. Part of him wanted to just force himself to stop beating around to bush and just ask the man if there was mutual attraction... but on the other hand, he felt like either way, it didn't matter and would amount to nothing. 

At least if he kept his hopes low, he couldn't be disappointed or let down.

Deep in his gut, he felt butterflies when he thought of Adrian's return. It would be a few more hours before he would see the man again. He'd have to find a way to pass the time, and sitting down contemplating on his fate could only carry him for so long before it became boring and tiresome. Using his hands to push him off the ground, he stood up, stretched to get the stiffness out of his knees, and headed to the archway further into the massive chamber. As always, Andre was hammering away at weapons. Where on earth was he even keeping the weapons he forged? It's not like the space behind him was filled to the brim with weapons strewn across the ground like discarded lovers. Anyways, Andre wasn't his intended target for conversation; the blacksmith barely contained his disdain for Hawkwood's sarcasm and somewhat surly personality.

No, he had set his sights on Greirat, who was crouched on the left side, not far from the stairs that led down into the waterlogged lowest floor. At least the water wasn't very deep. He approached the strange, small man, and stood before him. The man shifted, and looked up, his face and eyes not visible behind the thrall mask he wore. The tail of the mask tipped backwards as he stared up at the ex-Watcher of the Abyss. "Oh... I don't think we've met," he said, laughing nervously at the end of his sentence like it was punctuation. Hawkwood shook his head. 

"No, we haven't. I'm Hawkwood. The man who rescued you- at least that's what he told me- told me about you..." he replied, crouching slightly so he was a bit more comfortable talking to the man on the ground. It was better than standing, or sitting in the water. He could practically hear the smile in Greirat's voice when he replied, "I'm Greirat. And he mentioned you to me." The smaller man fidgeted a little, more excited than nervous. Hawkwood raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Oh? Is that so?" he questioned, his hands on his knees. If he were standing, he'd fold his arms. He felt both nervous, and intensely curious.

"Well, yes. He said you were an odd type, but that you meant no harm. Also, that you were like him, awaken by the beckoning bell," he replied in a gentle but thrilled voice. Hawkwood let out a laugh. "Oh, that's rich, coming from him, of all people," he managed to get out between each boisterous peal, nearly toppling himself over, "But yes, I'm Unkindled, like him." Greirat tilted his head to convey his bemusement. For one reason or another, he didn't seem to want to take off that ridiculous mask, despite that it marked him as a thief. It would at least make reading him easier. At the very least, Hawkwood gathered that he was a bit twitchy and excitable, and cordial like Adrian, from the way his voice sounded when he spoke. A kind assassin and a kind thief? Like two peas in a pod. Heh. The world had a really strange sense of humor sometimes.

"Did he tell you where he was from?" Hawkwood asked, wondering if the frail-looking man before him was aware of Adrian's... profession. There was barely a beat before Greirat replied, "Yes, he told me he was from Vinheim, and even divulged his trade. Not that it wasn't rather obvious, heh. I mean, part of being a thief is being able to read people, and his clothing practically screams it." He let out a few timid titters, and added, "He didn't tell me where you were from but he did tell me you were a member of some legion and that I'd know exactly you who were when I'd meet you." The theif relaxed a little. However, the man in front of him didn't, still squatting and looking as grim as ever. The lighting didn't help.

"It doesn't matter. Not anymore. But, if you're so inclined, my home is, or rather, was Farron. That place... doesn't truly exist anymore. As I knew it," Hawkwood exhaled, returning to flashes of memory of the far gone past. Greirat stayed awkwardly silent before saying, "Oh. Well, if it makes you feel better, the Undead Settlement, where I come from, isn't the way it was before the lands started converging. Everything is wrong, and some parts just sank into the earth. Not to mention, the High Way just appeared one day!" The man before him simply nodded, his mind still part way lost to thoughts of Farron in its former glory. Tired of the strain on hid legs and calves, he stood up, and choose to just look down as he spoke in order to pass the time. "Yes," he began flatly, "The fading of the fire has that effect. Places and people phase in and out, both out of space and time, et cetera. Such is the curse. Seeing this is the second cycle I've been around to experience. I loathe to think about having to deal with a third." The thief merely nodded in understanding; he seemed to be at a loss of what else to say.

Perhaps he could just wander aimlessly outside and lose himself in thought. And that's exactly what he did. It was better than attempting blantantly forced conversations. Of course, when he later stepped into the main entrance after being outside for gods know how long he immediately saw Adrian chatting with Andre and wanted to duck outside out of sheer anxiety. Instead, he forced himself to sit; his hands fidgeted, making fists, then relaxing, making fists, then relaxing. He was a grown man, and the prospect of talking again to the man he had fantasized about whilst masturbating the night before terrified him like he was a virgin all over again. He chalked it up to being out of practice. And when Adrian's tall but quite graceful form came into view, he did his best to look unperturbed.

As if reading into his mind, the man strode right up to him, an arm's length away, maybe less, smirking, and softly said while leaning forward and down, "I didn't see you when I got here. I wanted to thank you for the tip. I fought a disgusting, rotted tree along the way, but I did find the path you mentioned." His voice was barely above a whisper, which baffled Hawkwood. He briefly gazed into those dark eyes as he rummaged in the rucksack sitting beside him, and pulled out a heavy, jagged gray crystal formation. A heavy gem. He handed it to Adrian, avoiding touching or brushing his hand by accident. "You haven't given up yet? Then you're a brasher lad than I thought. You can make better use of this. I don't need it. Not now I've flown the coop," he chuckled in that deep, sardonic way of his. The assassin very gingerly took it and stood straight up, gazing at it, then at him.

"Thank you again. It must be early but I'm going to actually try to sleep for more than a couple hours. I appreciate the thought," he replied, that warm, smooth, sweet voice worming its way down Hawkwood's ears and into his memory. It was like auditory honey. At this point, he had no doubt he looked as flustered as he felt. One of the edges of his lips almost curled up into a smile as he muttered, "You're welcome." The tired assassin, without any hesitation, reached out and lightly squeezed Hawkwood's left shoulder before heading off to where the borrowed bedroll waited for him, the heavy gem still in hand. This brief contact caused his breath to hitch, and the tips of his ears to turn bright red.

Dear gods.

He'd be thinking about that all night. Was he a teenaged boy all over again?


	3. Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian's a cheeky asshole in this chapter. But at least he's on his way to finding the Lords of Cinder, and bringing them back, even if it means their ashes. More characters make their appearance.

By the time Hawkwood woke up, the dark leather loving assassin was nowhere to be found, in the shrine at least. The bedroll he had borrowed for longer than he should have was still there. He even asked the new "resident", Greirat, if he had seen Adrian. The only answer he got out of Greirat was that he had left sometime when everyone else was asleep. Not a very useful amount of information to go on. Shrugging, he ended up falling into his usual routine of wandering outside like a little lost puppy and practicing his swordsmanship on Hollows. It certainly beat spending far too much time on retrospection and getting further paralyzed by existential terror. At any rate, he wanted to get his mind off the assassin, even if were only until he saw him rise out of the bonfire once more, looking regal and heroic despite his sinister, if a little raggedy, garb.

Covered in blood and looking a bit menacing himself, he went to his usual spot where he liked to bathe, carrying both his shield and bastard sword, his rucksack slung over his shoulder. Somehow, he never noticed the bundle of clothing carefully set atop a dry boulder, nor did he notice the curved sword laying in its sheath, or the spell catalyst, or... well, the fact there was an Adrian shaped mass underneath the water. Perhaps it was because he was swimming in the deeper part of the creek towards where the ravenous crystal lizard slept; maybe it was because he was far too deep in thought to even pay such a thing that would throw off his routine any attention. When he began to set his gear on a boulder down the creek, the assassin whistled loudly, which made Hawkwood slip on a rock and almost fall face first into the cold, blue water. He managed to catch himself, but he still managed to get his trousers wet as he splashed into the water clumsily.

"Oh, sorry about that! I just wanted to ask if you had any soap. I don't have any," he said sheepishly, drawing his two arms and hands together close to his chest and wincing. Red tinged water dripped from his soaked mass of hair down his back and chin. He slicked it back. The warrior took note that his body was relatively hairless, except for the sparse dark curls in between the man's pink nipples made hard by the chill of the air. Grumbling, Hawkwood replied, "I have some in my bag," and fumbled through it before he produced the white bar. When he got into the motions to throw it at the man, Adrian began to wade forward and tsk, and then the other man made sure to keep his gaze up, desperately wanting to look down but much too mortified to do so. The water Adrian stood in was no longer waist deep, and it definitely wasn't knee deep on him. Eyes fixated on the man's face, Hawkwood handed it over, then turned around to avoid looking at him any further. 

He could practically hear the assassin's smirk, and he definitely heard him chuckle. "Tell me when you're done," he shouted before finding a dry spot to sit on. Behind him, Adrian splashed a little, and he could practically hear the robust scrubbing going on. After all, regardless of the tattered leathers he wore, Adrian was, indeed, a sorcerer from Vinheim, and he knew folks from those whereabouts were as fussy as they come. Well... he seemed a little more relaxed than that, but he certain did look like he put a lot of effort into his appearance, given he seemed perpetually clean shaven and his hair wasn't just a shapeless mass of waves but always carefully combed out. The man behind him snickered, his voice filled with mirth, "You know, for a man from a 'legion' you sure are a prude. What, have you never seen a man naked before?" He laughed heartily, punctuating the question. Thank the Wolf's Blood the man couldn't see the expression on his face. "You sure you're not the one from Vinheim?" Adrian teased after getting no response.

Hawkwood rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, we all knew each other. We were all brothers and sisters in arms. Seeing the genitals of a stranger is a much different beast," he growled, folding his arms. "I'm still a stranger now?" the assassin quipped back, wading through the water. Water plopping onto a flat boulder filled his ears. The other man formed fists against his body tight until they turned white while the tips of his ears and his cheeks turned a bright crimson. He cleared his throat. After hearing some shuffling and clicking of buckles, Adrian finally said, "Alright, my straight-laced acquaintance, I'm fully clothed now and you can now gaze upon me without the threat of my other sorcerer's staff lancing you in the eye from several arm lengths away. Magically, of course." Hawkwood turned around, and wasn't the least bit surprised the man held his arms straight out and he was wearing the biggest shit eating grin. He was almost tempted to laugh. Almost. Well, he also had to admit he had a very handsome smile.

Instead, he just glowered at him, arms still crossed. The assassin skipped diagonally across rocks and boulders sticking out of the water to get over to where Hawkwood was. Surprisingly, he kept his balance, and didn't slip on the wet rocks or the mushy moss. Landing nearby, but not too close, he nudged him with the now wet and lathered soap bar. The warrior deftly took it. At least it didn't have any hairs on it. Well, Adrian was considerate and not at all disgusting, he had that going for him. After a few moments, the assassin changed his expression into a serious one and softly said, "I'll get out of your hair now and stop badgering you." Despite all his pomp in the moments, he knew how to leave as quietly as he arrived. Despite knowing the man had probably already run off, he looked around, and saw... well, nothing but the ashen gray of the rocky outcrops, and the somewhat desaturated blue of the water. It amazed him how everything around him the gods forsaken cemetery and shrine looked exactly as he felt: despaired.

When he returned to the shrine, clean and fulled armored, he heard Adrian's distinct voice talking to a voice he didn't recognize, one that was clearly old. Sighing, he sat down at the very foot of the stairs on the right side of the room. Well, it was the right side of the room through the main entrance at least. 

"I had no idea a sorcerer from Vinheim would take such interest in the primal art of pyromancy," the welcoming voice said. He heard the gentle chuckle of Adrian, warm and as musical as ever. "Why wouldn't I? Aside from pyromancers being looked down upon, I mean," the man replied, and Hawkwood could hear the smile in his voice, "After all, pyromancy was once just a subset of sorcery. And as far as pyromancers being viewed as irreputable..." The assassin went silent for a moment, and he heard the pyromancer? let out another short chuckle. After the chuckling subsided, the other person responded, "Your actions speak to exactly what kind of man you are, Adrian. You sell yourself short." Hawkwood fought back against his urge to walk in on them that was welling up inside of him, but he had already felt like he was obvious enough as is.

Despite this, his curiosity got the better of him and he walked into the other part of the Shrine. The man was leaning against the wall near Andre, with his arms folded; the blacksmith had the other man's scimitar on the anvil and was using titanite shards and his hammer to reinforce it. Seeing Hawkwood, the assassin grinned widely, leaned forward, and stood rod straight up. "I went back to the Undead Settlement and found Cornyx over there," he told Hawkwood, pointing at the wizened tanned man wearing a sort of blindfold off to the right side, "He was locked into a cage. I can't believe I missed him the first time around. Anyways, I have no doubt that if I had waited any longer he might have met the fate of either being used as an offering to... whatever strange religion they had going on there before I destroyed that disgusting tree monster, or ended up as fodder for our good friend Aldrich. While I was there, I also freed a cleric named Irina who was locked in a sewer. Weird story." He ran his fingers through his still damp hair. The warrior raised his right eyebrow, not in disbelief but out of curiosity as to what the story of this lady cleric could possibly be to explain being imprisoned in a sewer, and simply gave the other man a bemused look. Adrian was about to explain when the blacksmith interrupted in his gravelly voice, "I've finished enhancing your blade." He carefully sheathed the scimitar and handed it over to the very enthused assassin, who responded with, "Thank you, Andre. Much appreciated." Then, he buckled it onto his right hip.

"Since you seem to either doubt me or you're really confused as to how someone could be locked in a sewer, of all places, her... companion? Eygon locked her in there. Hell if I know what he actually is to her. A knight, I suppose. It was to protect her, he said. I don't know if that's a Carim thing or not. I mean, I suppose that's one way to protect someone, lock them somewhere where no one will want to go," the man nervously laughed, then stopped and twiddled his fingers. His brow furrowed. "But yes... it was a little bizarre, but she seems happy to be here even if I'm not particularly interested in miracles or prayer," he added. Hawkwood nodded, still grappling to understand the information. He thumbed his lower lip. Adrian seemed to be gathering a very eccentric menagerie of rescued people. Strange that an assassin should actively choosing to save people, rather than kill him, especially since it would only delay the inevitable. They were mostly Undead, though not Unkindled, and as such, would eventually go Hollow, and now that they were here, well, they'd just keep coming back out of the bonfire, their new home. Stroking the stubble on his face, Hawkwood asked, aghast, "Aren't you concerned your kindness will end up backfiring on you? You don't know any of these people you've managed to find. You barely know me." With an exaggerated motion, the assassin slapped his right hand to his chest and did his best flamboyant imitation of a shocked look, his mouth wide open. He then replied, "I didn't know you cared that much about my well-being, how sweet of you to consider it. Does that mean I've been bumped from 'annoying acquaintance you'd rather get rid of but can't bring yourself to because that would be rude' to 'obnoxious almost but not quite friend that you almost enjoy talking with?'" It could have earned the man a chuckle, but instead Hawkwood sighed and rolled his eyes, noting that Andre was trying to contain laughter and failing.

After waiting for the laughter to die down, he broke the resulting silence by clearing his throat. "I just find it ironic, given you're a 'Vinheim assassin,'" he replied in his typical sardonic manner, making air quotation marks with his fingers. Adrian smirked, then bit his lip in thought. He probably had thought of some brilliant, hilarious reply, but had swallowed it down, and instead gave a rather quiet mellow remark as he leaned in closer to Hawkwood, "Thank you for your concern, but I think you'll find you're overacting just a tad." Adrian gave him a small smile, patted his left shoulder, and wandered off towards the bonfire. The other man turned and watched as he elegantly bowed, right before phasing out entirely, gone in the dancing, singing embers. Tapping his boots on the ground, Hawkwood sighed and went back to just sitting, staring at the bonfire contemplatively. If this were Farron... back when it wasn't swamp, he could just pick at the grass and throw it in mindless spite. Instead, he just used his left foot to make swirls in the ash. Maybe deserting his fate as Unkindled Ash was the wrong thing to do after all. It got really boring and tiresome, being stuck in your mind all the time.

But hey, at least Adrian had taken up the champion banner!

Heh.

Yawning from boredom, he reached into the sack at his hide in order to get out his whetstone and sharpen his own sword by himself, Andre be damned. The song of his sword as he struck the whetstone against it calmed him, soothed his soul. Each run against the edges of the blade produced a note, and over time, it became a symphony. Though the weapon wasn't meant for cutting, sharpening it wouldn't hurt, especially since he often neglected it barring making sure to clean the blood off of it to prevent rusting or caking. There wasn't much point, given all the fighting he did was just sweeping down weak Hollows. But, it comforted him, reminded him of home, and that was all that mattered. When time finally seemed to slip away, holding the blade in one hand, Hawkwood very carefully ran his palm down one of the edges, looking at it and noting how effortlessly he cut the thin skin and gently bled without pressing hard into it. Well, if it came down to it, his bastard sword would be a good, if quite unwieldy and large, cheese knife. Or a letter opener. The near split shield could be a platter. Or his head stone Hawkwood's face splits into a cynical grin at the thought of how sick, twisted, and funny it all is, how his failure and desertion leaked and seeped into everything. With a sigh, he put the whetstone back into his rucksack, and for the first time, noticed a strange man leaning against the largest throne of King Lothric, sitting atop the stairs if one followed this set to its climax. His entire body, from head to toe, literally head to toe at that, was covered, either in silver or gold-threaded leather. His tricorn hat would have cast a shadow on his eyes, if not for his silver, expressionless mask.

All of his blood turned into ice crystals, and he cursed himself for being right about Adrian's friendliness turning into something reckless.

Except for the fact the man never mentioned... whoever this was. He doubted the assassin would fail to mention someone as ominous and out of place as that. Still, he wouldn't bring attention to the man, not right now, not even attempt a "How are you doing?" or "What's your name?" or "How the fuck did you get here without anyone noticing, not even fucking Adrian, and which forsaken pit of the Abyss did you crawl out of?". Hawkwood forced himself to stop staring at the strange interloper, and made a note to very inconspicuously mention it to Adrian later. So, he decided the best course of action to avoid getting the notice of this person was to very quietly and slowly leave that part of the shrine and duck into the area where everyone else made themselves home.

After walking into the other room, his intense gaze set itself on Greirat. Yes, he could at least say something to the pickpocket who was quite stealthy himself, especially with his slightness. Cautiously walking down the small set of stairs down to the left area, he quietly approached the thief, keeping him at a little more than an arm's length away. "So," he started in a low voice, "Have you noticed the person standing by the top largest throne?" He wished he could read the expression underneath that ratty looking thrall mask. Instead, two small dark eye holes just stared at him. Greirat stiffened. He simply asked Hawkwood, "Why?" The other man, standing tall and ominous in his dark leather armor, scowled. "There's something about him I don't trust. I suppose I shouldn't judge a book by its cover given our Champion of Ash is in the most sorry set of assassin's leathers I've ever seen but... do you think you could discreetly watch over the man to see if he does anything... out of the ordinary?" requested Hawkwood, bending his upper half down to get slightly closer and resting his hands on his knees.

"Uhh, alright, I guess I can do that. Better than just idly sitting here wishing I was out thieving," he replied with a bit of uncertainty tingeing his voice, his body relaxing slightly. To be truthful, he didn't care if that uncertainy was due to distrust of Hawkwood or not. After a moment of no talking and almost no movement, he turned and went back from whence he came, as calm and determined before. But instead of sitting down, he ended up going outside for fresh air, and maybe just to swing his sword for no fucking reason than it felt right. This time, he went to the bell tower on the west side that had once been guarded by a rather aggressive, if silent tawny man wielding a sharp, long, thin blade, wearing clothing in absolute tatters. But now, it was quiet and abandoned. He sat at the top of the stairs, dropping his things to the side and looking pensively at the horizon.

It must have been dusk when Adrian finally returned. In that time before he appeared before the bonfire, two more new people showed up, this time a small woman in full knight armor calling herself "Anri" and a rather taciturn man in foreboding, heavy black armor she called "Horace." Anri spoke for both her and her companion when she told Hawkwood she was seeking out to kill Aldrich, but couldn't find him at the Cathedral of the Deep, so they stopped here to rest before to travel to fabled Irithyl, past Farron and Carthus. He spoke very little but listened raptly. Now, he wasn't sure about Horace, who had his arms crossed the entire time and never did more than growl or grunt, but Anri, at least, seemed nice and genuine, if incredibly eager to see Aldrich dead. 

It was during that conversation, over being another Lordseeker, that Adrian appeared out of the fire, tightly clutching a doll, of all things, with a shorter man in rather nicely tailored black clothing standing beside him. At first glance, he almost took him as a brother, but further inspection he thought perhaps not. While Adrian's face suggested refined, rather than rugged, masculinity, the other one was effeminate and pretty, even, not in a bad way. There was that, and that they stood far too apart to suggest a blood relationship. Well, maybe it was a bad one? Adrian looked at Anri and Horace first, then looked straight at Hawkwood, and ambled towards him, holding the doll so tight his already pale hands were as light as the moon. His face was remarkably red, his hair damp and stringy, and his eyes were wide and wild.

With unbridled irritation, he said, "That fucking man-eating colossal pool of shit wasn't there. This doll tells me he left for Irithyll." He waggled the hand holding it. "Guess I'll be paying the Undead Legion a visit first, but I don't know how to get into the very interior of the keep! My toes are fucking soaked and I smell like a swamp. I think I have mud stuck between my... you know what, never mind that thought in this mixed company. Fuck it!" With the doll still in his hands, he clutched at his head and made a short yowl of frustration. Gathering his composure, ignoring the glances from the new man and Anri (probably Horace too, but damn if he could tell), Adrian then cleared his throat and asked, "Could you please help me before I lose my mind? I figure you must know since you... well, I guess you're no longer part of the Legion but?" His eyes were clearly pleading to be released from the madness of not being able to figure out a puzzle.

He bit the side of his cheek to keep himself from smirking at the thought of a Vinheim sorcerer being unable to figure out something so simple. "You open the doors to the wolf blood by snuffing out each flame at each of the three altars around the keep. That's the way in. You should find the Watchers there," he replied, the amusement in his voice betraying his deadpan expression. His eyes then flitted to the man now standing behind him. Tilting his head, a glimmer of a smile finally crossed his face when he asked, "Who is that?" Adrian looked over his shoulder. The stranger lifted a black eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak.

"Orbeck, of Vinheim," he simply spoke, folding his arms and looking at Hawkwood with a curious countenance. Now he just couldn't help but laugh and slap his thighs. This was fucking hilarious. "That's great," he wheezed, "Two sorcerers from Vinheim, two knights from Astora, a thief from the Undead Settlement, a pyromancer from the Great Swamp, a nun of Carim and... finally... myself. A deserter, from Farron. Couldn't be more of a joke set up. Fitting, considering how much of a farce this is." He was practically crying from laughter and his stomach was killing him. Adrian flashed him a forced awkward grin, turned towards Orbeck, and began leading him towards the area with Andre and the rest. He let them go without a comment, and didn't speak anymore to Anri or Horace. 

Besides, he knew Adrian would probably ask to borrow his spare bedroll to sleep before disappearing. Again. He'd have to remind him to either pillage one or see if the shrine handmaiden had any to spare for some souls. 

And return he did, after Horace and Anri left, and the sun set. While he was of the mind, he asked, "So, did you know Orbeck from... before?" He tried to sound just casually interested, but his intonation was all off and it ended up sounding more. The assassin before him gave him a lopsided grin, the red, orange, and then yellow light of the bonfire flickering across his face to only emphasize the sparkle of glee in his eyes. Did he detect the slight hint of jealousy? The other man rolled his shoulders and responded after trying to stifle a yawn, "Nope. Completely different timelines. Knows more spells than I, and offered to teach me more if I bring him some scrolls." He found himself staring at the man at the fifth throne again, which caused Adrian to look in the same direction. He then returned to looking at Hawkwood with a strange expression.

"What a nice hat," he said half-jokingly, putting his hands at his hips, "I'll ask him what his story is before I head off to bathe, again, and sleep. Can I bor- you know what, I'll just see if I can just get a bar of soap and a bedroll myself since I keep on bothering you." Hawkwood could practically see the clockwork ticking behind the man's eyes, and then he was gone up the stairs to question the stranger. He pretended to not listen to the two's conversation, but gleaned that his name was Leonhard, that he had been hear before and talked to Adrian (which he thought he would remember given his tendency to chase the man with his eyes), and that he was "the Ringfinger." The assassin seemed a little cautious, occasionally giving him a fierce stare, especially after this Leonhard tried to appeal towards his bloodlust. Adrian then bowed, and left, ignoring Hawkwood as he went to talk to the handmaiden.

Hawkwood retired for the night, climbing up the stairs to his usual sleeping spot, watching Adrian darted outside to get a quick bath in one of the creeks. At the same time, he noticed the man calling himself Leonhard had vanished. Oh, that would make him sleep better tonight. In the soft light of the fire, he took off his armor and boots, again in nothing more than a loincloth and laid on top of his bedroll, just sitting and not getting under the covers quite yet. The bastard sword lay in its sheath close to his body, and his shield on the opposite side. His mind wandered to thoughts of their conversations today, noting in his eavesdropping that while Adria was very much... Adrian, the way he spoke to him was much different than the way he spoke to anyone else. In fact, through most of their conversations he beamed with that impish look in his eye.

He didn't doubt the assassin had been flirting with him the entire time but he had been reluctant to bring it up in conversation, lest he find himself on the wrong end of Adrian's blade over a simple misunderstanding. But... he supposed he always could bring it up somewhere quieter and less likely to have listeners.

Above the covers still sitting, he watched the subject of his thoughts return bare chested, hands bare, hair damp, rucksack in one hand, chest armor in the other, his weapon and staff hanging off his hips. He swiftly leapt up the stairs to get to the western top alcove, rolled out his newly acquired bedroll, and bent over to pull off his boots. Even in the dim light, Hawkwood could see all, especially since his eyes had long since adjusted. After carefully setting them side, he finally began to slowly unlace the drawstrings on his leather trousers. He pulled the opening apart, exposing his dark brief undergarments, and yanked the trousers off his incredibly long, slender pale legs. Hawkwood's eyes danced over the man's exposed, surprisingly hairless thighs, noting how well muscled they were, and how they thickened on the way up. His toes and fingers curled up as he watched the man, still standing, lazily stroke himself through the thin fabric and cradle his testicles.

A gasp escaped Hawkwood's mouth, and he immediately slapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide open. Adrian's attention snapped his head and neck in his direction. Could he even see him? Apparently, the assassin could, because after a few moments of shock, recognition crossed his face, and his face slowly split into a wide simper. Underneath his loincloth, he felt his cock twitch, throb, and begin to stiffen. Still staring right in his direction with a dark, lustful expression, Adrian stopped cupping his balls with the one hand and began to lick and suck on his fingers exaggeratedly; his other hand began to tightly grope his growing bulge that could only just be seen in the faint light. He made no noise, aside from the incredibly faint sound of wet popping every time he took his fingers out of his mouth. With his right hand now down his undergarment, he began to fist his erection, it tenting the black material. If he listened closely, he could now hear the soft keening of the other man as he worked his cock, straining against the fabric.

Now thoroughly aroused by the display, Hawkwood began to hastily stroke himself under his loincloth, unable to look away as the assassin thrust into his own hand, mouth agape and his eyes half lidded. He bit his lower lip and ran his wet fingers through his still damp hair and pulled. The sight was entrancing. It was too much. He could barely muffle the sound of him grunting as he came all over his hand, shutting his eyes tight as his body convulsed with climax. When he opened them back, the assassin gave one last stroke of his cock and jerk of his hips before taking his now very sticky hand out and giving Hawkwood an obscene gesture before abruptly laying down, likely to crawl under the comfort of his bedroll.

Panting and mortified, he wiped off his hand and softening cock, and did the same. He didn't know if he could even speak to the man the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments so far. I had no idea how much people wanted some Hawkwood slashfic. I proooomise there will be actual sex eventually.
> 
> ...Also, I couldn't be the only one who completely forgot Hawkwood's dialogue of how to get through those doors, and then took forever to find each of the fires to put out.


	4. Counting Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses on Adrian's view, though it is still third person. No smut in this one, but there is violence. How slow does a slow burn have to be anyways? Sorry this took so long, I've had trouble with my internet the past week or so.

Adrian woke up with a slight crick in his neck, much to his chagrin. The light of dawn peaked into the shrine shyly, and it steadily took with it the cool air of the night. He laid under the covers with the exception of the right side of his chest, which was exposed and slightly damp with sweat. He felt hot, almost feverish, but as his body woke up he began to feel cold. He didn't even remember if he had dreamed or not to prompt his body into a nervous or frightened perspiration. Groaning, he sat up, yanked his armor and boots on, and clipped his staff and sheathed weapon to his hips. Hawkwood must either be resting or outside of the shrine; down below sitting he was not. A mischievous grin swept across his face as he remembered the expression of the other man the night before as he made a spectacle of himself on purpose, especially when he had effectively told him to fuck off (a charming turn of phrase indeed, and of course meant figuratively) with little more than hand gestures. Now, he hadn't meant to be too terribly cruel at all, that wasn't his intention at all. If Hawkwood's attention had bothered him at all, he wouldn't be making such an entertaining game out of it. In fact... the attraction was quite mutual.

Rolling his neck to hopefully get that painful crick out of his neck, he very quietly walked down the steps, scanning the antechamber for anything out of the ordinary, then stood in front of the bonfire. He knew what he had to do. His mission, his purpose, demanded that he return the Lords of Cinder at all costs, and who was he to deny such a calling? Vinheim, after all, had been an immense disappointment, even before he was exiled when he turned Undead; there was little respect for sorcerers such as himself who favored the more practical spells (in his opinion, at least) that augmented shields and weapons, and masked the sounds of approach. Most dismissed them as crude and inferior to more flashy and potentially more immediately lethal spells that launched themselves at the target in a fury of bright blue light. Still, the more experienced and prestigious individuals did pay him to kill off any competition, but it wasn't the same as being respected for developing or mastering spells that they favored.

Being Unkindled, as weak as he supposedly was for someone so integral, beat putting poison tipped daggers through someone's back and into their lungs for a soundless death all for a bunch of snobbish pricks any day.

He flashed the Fire Keeper a quick innocent grin before he closed his eyes, pictured his destination, and vanished in a flit of ember and ash. He reappeared at the Keep Ruins behind three Ghru that seemed completely oblivious to his arrival. The bridge they rested on was precariously narrow and the lighting was a bit dim, but he could handle it. Sounds of things slogging through the mud and the buzzing of insects filled his ears. The air was still and humid, making it seem much warmer than it actually was. Between the mud that made any sort of movement a battle, and the near suffocating moisture of the air, it wouldn't be long before he was coated in a shiny varnish of perspiration. He wasn't looking forward to how awful he would smell after his current task, and how he'd probably had to buy another set of armor just to be completely rid of the odor.

With a quick, almost reflex like gesture, he took out his staff and waved it above his head in an arch. The magical energy made a whimsical tremolo as it surrounded his feet in white energy, both muffling the sounds he made and dampening falls. Not even bothering to put his catalyst back on his hip, he rushed to the backs of one of the sitting Ghru and plunged his curved blade through its back and chest, knocking it forward onto its stomach as well as knocking its shield and spear from its hands. Grinning as dark blood splattered his face, he used the opportunity to kick the roused Ghru beside him down off the platform and into the bog. By this time, the Ghru he backstabbed had managed to just barely push itself off the ground and weakly grab its shield and spear, and the Ghru with the staff turned around, looming over the assassin. 

Gritting his teeth, he rushed forward while swinging at the weakened Ghru on his left. It buckled limply at its knees as bloody foam dripped from its mouth before dropping face first onto the ground, still clutching at its equipment. In a manner of seconds, he managed to leap forward onto the next Ghru, stabbing it in the ribs as he flung himself at it. The man-beast clawed at him, howling and yelping as the blade slide out from the newly formed fleshy crevice as he pushed himself off the creature. With a quick flick of his right wrist, he cleanly sliced the throat of the beast; a maniacal grin split his face as sickeningly thick almost black blood dripped and spurted from the jugular. Its arms and legs still twitched and flailed, even as the life in its eyes faded. Finally, it slumped, its tongue lolling from its swollen maw. He didn't even bother concerning himself with the Ghru a good drop below at this point; it was likely weakened, probably wouldn't be able to find him, and definitely didn't seem smart enough to climb the bridge he stood on. Also, he didn't care to set foot in the noxious sludge if it wasn't necessary. He found the stench unbearable enough where he stood.

He crossed it to the other side and almost didn't see the first flame to his right, his attention focused on a loudly snoring Ghru at the very top of some steps. Well, he didn't feel like playing it stealthy, so he simply dived after the grotesque growth covered monster, bringing his scimitar down into its right shoulder before whacking it hard against its right ribs. It growled loudly, and almost managed to lunge and bite down onto Adrian, but not before he ducked and kicked it in the groin. In front of the staggered anthropomorphic creature, he slashed its chest, grimacing as it splattered blood all over his armor and face. After it crinkled up into a pathetic ball of purple boils and fur, he spat out onto the ground trying to get the foul blood off his lips. He almost forgot his hands were similarly coated in the coagulating liquid as he reached to wipe if off with his gloved hands. Breathing out a sign of resignation, he used a patch of clean leather on his left shoulder to clean his lips. It was during those motions that he saw the flame on his left.

"I'll be damned, I'm a bloody dense motherfucker. Must have ran past here a few times trying to find it," he muttered to himself as he ambled up to the altar and snuffed the flames out. Almost immediately, he noticed the flaming tower above him going on as its roaring ceased. He looked up, grinned, stood back, and placed his hands on his hips after sheathing his sword and clipping his staff to his belt. Chuckling deep in his throat and wiping beads of sweat from his hairline and brow, he said, "Guess I have two more to go. Watchers of the Abyss, tremble in your boots." Encouraged by finding the first, on the heels of his boots he twirled around and dashed down the stairs, groaning when he noticed he'd be slogging through the fetid bog. Because he knew how terrible it would smell, he began to breathe through his mouth as he prepared to run through it as quickly as possible, well, as fast as one could trudge through the thick putrid mud anyways.

When he ran down to the close by outcrop of dry ground, he took the time to try to extrapolate where the next flame altar would be. Given how thick the canopy was, he couldn't actually see any towers, but he could at least see another large hill straight ahead where he could probably go up steps to one. Instead of going through the mud, he decided his legs were long enough to simply jump onto the island of dry ground in front of him. Not that far away, he could see another flight of crumbled stairs. At this rate, he might actually be able to face his first Lord of Cinder before dusk. It was difficult to tell what time of day it was under the thick blanket of tree leaves at any rate. The only indication that the sun still sat in the sky was a welcome white gold ray of sunlight through a small hole in the canopy.

Like before, he had to cut Ghru guarding the altar down. However, this time his recklessness got the better of him, earning a painful gash above his right hipbone. Just the brief glancing of the creature's own warped curved blade had sent a mild poison coursing through his veins, making him feel like his blood was on fire. After dispatching the Ghru, he took a moment to collect his thoughts and use a purple clump of moss from his rucksack to avoid a potentially deadly fever taking hold and making the pilgrimage of sorts even more hellish. He also took a quick gulp of his estus flask to heal the damage done both by the hit and the poison. Later, he'd have to sew up the resulting tear in his armor. Since the blade that the Ghru dropped seemed to perpetually ooze poison, he stashed it the sack blade down, hoping it wouldn't cut itself free in his task. It was certainly better than having it blade up, tripping, and impaling oneself on the sharp end, that's for sure. He passed an archway and turned to his left again to walk over and extinguish yet another flame. While doing that, he took note of the strange engravings.

With the second flame extinguished, he trotted down another slope down back into the mire. And so he marched, past crumbled, downed ruins, slaughtering any of the skittering Ghru and leeches on his way. Even breathing out of his mouth, he felt nauseated, and knew the next time he found solid ground he would need to take a purple moss clump lest he be weakened by poison. Death by swamp poison would be a pretty funny death for an assassin, he snickered to himself as he turned a left corner. Stairs. Thanks the lords. Noticing quick movement on the corner of his eyes, he darted up them, quickly spotted the altar, and smothered the flame. He wasn't about to be ambushed by some Ghru, or one of those terrifying beasts that used trees as a damn hex staff as he made his way back to the now open doors to the inner courtyard of the keep. 

When he saw the altar on his right, under a panted breath he mumbled a small prayer of thanks to no lord or god in particular. He approached it with a relieved grin, and suffocated the last fire. As the crackle of the large fire above faded, he let out a heavy sigh in order to calm himself from intense excitement from the knowledge that he didn't have to come back here unless he really wanted to. That, and he was also thrilled at the idea of coming back triumphant to Hawkwood to see what kind of response he would get. By this time, he had worked up a bit of a sweat under his armor. He'd definitely have to bathe when he returned to Firelink; he probably smelled decidedly foul, a mix of sickly sweet copper, the almost indescribably horrible organic stench of the mud, and of course the musky smell of body odor. Now going down the stairs he just ran up, he walked towards the right to head back to the now open doors. When he stood before them, he felt a mixture of surprise and disappointment that he couldn't immediately see a building that he could go inside. Casting his sound muffling spell, he cautiously slunk towards the right wall and in the shadows and began to breathe through his nose again. This area not only had dry land, but it had trees that didn't completely block out the light. 

When he came across a group of corvians, his steps became even more gingerly in nature, and he almost held his breath as his eyes focused on the large matriarch up above on a hill very close by. She and her apparent apostles paid no attention as he sneaked down a path around and past them and up a hill. When he was sure he was out of sight, he cast the spell again a final time. He silently thanked himself when he noticed two black armored people stalking on the crest of the hill away from him. Their stance was incredibly tense, and he could somehow hear their slow breathing. After scuffling with a wandering Black Knight in some of the earlier ruins and getting mercilessly killed numerous times, he wasn't about to rush into fighting another tough, menacing appearing enemy, much less two. So, he did what he did best, and slowly crept up behind one to jerk his blade into a quite small gap in the armor into the small of its back. He took note that he could see a number of Ghru up ahead.

Almost instantaneously the two warriors spun around and began their relentless assault, swinging their heavy black blades around in a cleverly synchronized attack. Adrian grunted as he just barely managed to roll out of their way, noting that the growls and snarls they made under their skeleton resembling masks didn't sound human... but they were not the raspy sounds of a Hollow, either. He had never seen, nor heard of such a strange thing. He barely had the time to swing at them in between their assault. As soon as one stopped swinging, the other would turned to try to bash him onto his back. And unlike many other humanoid enemies he had faced, relentless swinging didn't seem to phase them at all; they would continue their barrage of attacks regardless of being repeatedly hit themselves. Eventually, he just resigned himself to dodging and rolling to the side and circle strafing them, avoiding both their swords and their strange grab attacks that made their right hand pulse with bright energy. 

Once he felled one, he knew the other one would be much, much easier to handle. Seeing its brethren slain, it held out its left hand and from its palm formed a rippling shield of solid red energy. Sneering at it, he strafed to the left and feinted with his scimitar. When it dropped the shield in order to raise an attack, he snapped at it with his scimitar, grinning as he could see red blood oozing from out between its obsidian, worn looking armor. After a few more carefully planned slashes at the warrior, it finally heaved, rolling onto its front and curling in on itself at an impossible angle. He kicked it to make sure it wasn't doing a good job at playing dead. When it failed to rise after a robust stomp on its neck, Adrian left the two bodies. 

He paused to take in his surroundings. To his right, several tall trees with thick trunks stood tall before another group of hills. While he couldn't see any Ghru that way, he had no doubt a few waited in hiding. Straight ahead on the path, he could see at least six Ghru waiting for him, as well as the first fully intact building of Farron Keep. It wouldn't be too difficult to lure the creatures out one by one. Lastly, behind him was an in tact archway to more of the Farron Keep ruins. He pursed his lips in thought. If he headed towards the ruins, he could run into more even more enemies than the ones ahead. On the other hand, he could find useful loot, perhaps even a bonfire. Deciding that either way, the trek back here if he died wasn't too bad, so he went ahead and carefully peaked in.

For whatever reason, this long stretch of fortress didn't have a roof, and aside from a few ceramic vases and an unlit bonfire straight ahead what he could see was incredibly barren. As he wandered forward to light the bonfire, he saw more of the stretch, noticing the back of a sitting Ghru in front of some stairs. As he lit it, the area exploded with bright red, orange, and yellow light with a roar, and it made the area even warmer. When the noise faded to the gentle, soothing crackling and humming, he took the time to sip some of his glowing blue meager ashen estus, its coldness that slithered down his throat making him shudder. It offered small comfort in the stifling warmth of the swamp, and gave him the necessary focus in order to cast more of his spells. He'd check the area ahead, then return to open area and sneak around the group of Ghru.

After quickly killing the first Ghru, he went up the small set of stairs and stopped, his eyes wide and mouth agape when he saw a number of large cyan crystal formations several hand lengths away, as well as a slumbering ravenous crystal lizard around a corner. While he wasn't expecting it, after finding the one at the Cathedral of the Deep, he stopped trying to figure out a pattern of where one was most likely to encounter one. There were two smaller Ghru more immediately to his right, and he decided to deal with those two first, as quietly as he could to avoid rousing the giant crystal lizard's interest. He backstabbed the first one, and quickly finished the job before the second one roused. It, too, was slaughtered without pause in a blinding flash of steel. Adrian then turned to tip toe back towards the bonfire and exit, leaving the newly dead Ghru to form a sticky dark blood puddle between the two of them.

After exiting the secluded area with the bonfire, he cast the spell to mask the sounds of his movement and sidled off to the right side, under the shade of the tall trees. Under his clothing, he felt absolutely dripping in sweat, and at this point his inner thighs were beginning to chafe where they rubbed together. He nearly fell backwards onto his ass out of shock when he ran into a sitting Ghru when he went behind the second tree. The creature, surprised itself, stood up and stared at a moment before growling. It hefted its sword high above its head and tried to bring it down on the man, but instead it hit nothing and unbalanced it. Adrian then used his sword to lacerate its neck, smirking as dark arterial blood splattered onto the dirt and dark grass. Giving it a good hard kick, it crumpled over with a loud thump and an eerie moan. 

He continued to stick to the edge of the area, skirting past a sitting and the hill with several trees on it that blocked the view further. This took him to a lone Ghru wielding a similarly curved sword to his on a top of a small hill against the dark masonry wall of the building. It met the same bloody fate as the others did. Now determined to finally get to the damn Watchers of the Abyss, he crept up to the wall and slid across it slowly and carefully, with his back flush against it. As he edged down it towards the doors, he kept his eye on the two sitting sentries, each clutching a shield and spear, as well as the roaming Ghru in front of them. Adrian didn't want to be caught by a group now, not so damned close to a Lord of Cinder. Well, make that Lords of Cinder, considering he was clearly going to fight more than one given almost the entire Undead Legion had risen as a Lord. Almost all of them. 

Speaking of, wondered what Hawkwood would say when he returned victorious.

It took only a few moments before he finally stood before those two large wooden doors. Behind them, he could hear the loud sounds of battle, of pained groans, of the sounds of metal hitting metal, of war cries and snarls, and of bodies crashing against walls and the ground. Had be been beaten to the punch? Had those two warriors he fought been stragglers from a large group of invaders? Clearing his mind of anxiety and doubt, he pushed the massive doors open as they whined and creaked on their hinges, and the sight laid before him startled him enough to stand there slack jawed for a moment before stepping inside.

The noises came from the Watchers of the Abyss themselves, those tall standing black leather clad sentinels with tall, imposing, pointed metal helms. All wore the same exact armor, and their faces were almost completely covered by a mask in addition to the helmet, making it difficult to identify one member from the others. For reasons Adrian couldn't ascertain immediately, they were attacking one another, beating each other senseless with their swords and fists, falling down into blood puddles and piles of the fallen. But those at the bottom of the pile didn't stay there for long; they would rise again to continue their assault anew. But eventually, one individual managed to slay the others. When the person noticed the bright light pouring into the large room, they turned to face him purposefully slow, then put their left hand, which was holding onto a dagger, over their right shoulder and held out the hand holding onto their greatsword, the tilted tip of the blade facing Adrian.

Now, Adrian didn't know much about the Legion, but he was fairly certain he knew exactly what that gesture meant.

There was little time to think before the Watcher came surging towards him in a long elegant sweep of the sword, catching Adrian off guard and piercing both the armor and flesh of his right side. He gritted his teeth from the pain and strafed to the left with a death grip on his scimitar. His knuckles turned ash white as bright crimson blood stained his leathers below his fresh gash. His adversary stayed silent as they attempted to slash at them with the dagger in their left hand, however it only whooshed through the air as he rolled diagonally to the Abyss Watcher's right. Then, they rolled a few times to the left, attempting to flank him. After they tried to swipe at the assassin with their dagger again, he managed to roll fast enough around them to stab them in the back. While Adrian made a couple quick swipes of his own at the foe as they stood up, an Abyss Watcher rose from the dead and rushed towards him.

He cursed under his breath as he saw the “new” Abyss Watcher to the fray while strafing around the older one. Of course it wouldn't be so simple and straight forward. Adrian back stepped just out of a ground sweep of the older one, then rolled to the side so he could keep his eyes on both of them at the same time. The newer one jumped and tried to do a downward stab, yet it missed Adrian. Despite this one successful dodge, he got grazed on the right collarbone by a complimentary attack from the other. He grimaced as it hit, then furrowed his brow in bloodthirsty determination. With a deft flick of his wrist, he managed to slash at both of them because they were so close together. One jumped backwards, and another rolled to the side.

This'll be a long, tedious fight, Adrian thought to himself. Figuring he ought to only be devoting attacks on only one of the Abyss Watchers, he went after the one that rolled, watching their moves carefully as they rolled and jumped and lunged their way across the uneven floor of the sanguine soaked mausoleum. All the nimble prancing across the somber ground reminded him perversely of deer. After managing to somewhat separate the two all the while facing them, he cornered one with his back turned at the other and repeatedly swung at the now isolated foe, noting how easily the Abyss Watcher staggered. Then, he hopped and rolled to the side, away from a counter hit. In the very back of the large room, yet another Abyss Watcher slowly stood from the ground, this time their eyes glowed bright red.

Instead of diving after Adrian, they began relentlessly attacking the nearest other Abyss Watcher. Now he could finally focus on one without constantly worrying about his footing. This increased his confidence, and thus increased his aggressiveness. When the Abyss Watcher swung at him and missed, he followed with a couple of swift but powerful blows from his scimitar. The noises of the other two crashing their swords and fists together filled his ears once more. After suffering one more small, superficial glance to his chest, he dived away to promptly drink an estus flask, and returned to slinging the sword as forcefully and as quickly as he could at the Abyss Watcher. Much to his surprise, when that Abyss Watcher dropped limply, the others two followed.

What happened next made him gasp and gawk in awe.

Blood rose from the corpses and began funneling into a singular body. As it swirled up from the bodies in thin tendrils, he noticed that tiny particles of glowing embers interspersed in the blood. Once all the blood met at the fallen Abyss Watcher, the body began to shimmer like an ember, and the sword they held caught into brilliant orange flames. Then, the body picked itself up, using the sword to stabilize. With soundless ferocity, the newly revived Abyss Watcher charged forward, leaving a trail of flames behind them in their wake. Really, quite a frighteningly beautiful sight, if one wasn't busy being killed. Adrian managed to dodge the attack, not before struggling to avoid being hit by a flurry of swings that sent fire flying. It wasn't so much the blows that he found difficult to out maneuver so much as the blazes they left behind in the air and ground.

The stench of singed leather and hair filled his nostrils as it burned him while he swung the scimitar at the rod straight back of the Abyss Watcher. Cursing himself for his temporary stupidity, he rolled out of the way of the trailing fires and stalked his way to the Lord of Cinder. Luckily, no others rose from the piles of cadavers. The Abyss Watcher flew into the air and attempted to connect an overhead swing down onto the assassin, but failed as he rolled to the side and quickly followed with a charged whirlwind. When the ground close to him ignited, he side stepped it, and made sure to swiftly face his opponent, lest he be surprised and overtaken by an attack. While they deliberately trotted towards him, he rushed forwards to swing, missing when they sidestepped the attack. The bastard could be quick when they put their mind to it.

When Adrian delivered the final blow, down to his final estus, he was much too exhausted to even cheer to himself. He knelt and gathered the Cinders from the felled foe into his rucksack. If he couldn't bring back the living Lords of Cinder, he'd just have to bring their ashes instead. After that long battle, he didn't give a shit what Ludleth had to say. He and the Fire Keeper would just have to deal. Besides, the ashes were still very warm, and he could feel them radiating power, even through his pouch. When he stood up and slung his rucksack over his right shoulder again, he noted the recently appeared unlit bonfire. He put his hand over it and watched it light with a small flicker of a smile on the corner of his lips. Focusing, he disappeared from that bonfire, and when he opened his eyes, he was in the familiar gloomy throne room of sorts of the Firelink Shrine.

He nearly collapsed right there, every bone and every joint and every muscle aching and longing for rest. Grabbing his staff from his left side, he used it to keep himself right as he silently walked past Hawkwood, not even registering the other man's presence as he climbed up the two sets of stairs up to where he had his bedroll. He sat down against the wall, and didn't even both to take off any of his armor or equipment as he lulled off into a dreamless slumber.


	5. Passive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this chapter is focused more on Adrian's thoughts/feelings/etc. I promise the lack of smut in these chapters will be worth it!

The pale orange yellow light of sunlight woke Adrian up with rapid twitches of his eyes. He found his neck stiff and sore from the awkward position, cursing himself for not having the foresight to at least collapse on the bedroll still clothed. While he still sat against the wall, he stretched his arms above his head, then wrinkled his nose when he got a good whiff of himself. The pungent, musky scent of sweat from exertion, the cloyingly sweet ferric tang of long since dried blood, the nose hair singeing stench of stagnant water and noxious mud worse than death itself, and the earthy, comforting smell of well oiled and well worn leather did not mix well, and only amplified each others more unpleasant qualities. Allowing them to mingle over night had made it worse. He'd need to scrub himself thoroughly 'til he was pink and buy an entirely new set of assassin's leathers before he'd feel clean, especially after all that blood and mud. Without further ado, he slowly stood up, briefly glancing down to the ground floor to see if Hawkwood was up, noticed he wasn't, and darted down the stairs clutching his rucksack, then jumped off to the ground floor when he skidded down the second set, landing in front of the front entrance.

Before he stepped out of Firelink Shrine, he made sure to use the souls he had amassed while fighting his way through Farron Keep to buy a new set of armor. He neatly folded them up into his rucksack and left the Ghru curved sword behind.

He barely took the time to take in the desaturated pinks and oranges of the clouds in the horizon as he dashed across the graveyard, quickly noting the distinct lack of Hollows roaming around. By the time he splashed across the Iudex Gundyr arena and peaked out of the archway entrance, he definitely knew he followed close on Hawkwood's trail. When he strolled up the last hill before the graves where he had risen from, he could finally see the disgraced Abyss Watcher, his cape gently swaying in the wind and his bastard sword resting on his right shoulder, striding towards the area where he seemed to usually bathe. His torso formed a delightful inverted triangle, not too too severe, his shoulders fluidly curving with muscle, but the cape hid much of the view of his similarly obviously built legs. 

As the sun rose, the area changed from being a dusky blue to a slightly more yellow-orange shade of depressed ash. The hue morphing light of dawn danced over the oblivious man's features as he dropped his belongings onto a hefty sized boulder and unclipped his cape from his armor. Feeling the tips of his ears, his neck, and his face redden and heat up out of embarrassment for once, Adrian turned to face away from the sight of the man undressing and sat down.

He sat there and picked at pebbles and dead grass for what felt like eternity. The light had finally matured to the palest of dusty yellows. He heard the shuffling of leather and the soft clinking of chain mail behind him and resisted the urge to turn around. Hawkwood's pleasantly surprised voice broke the threateningly pregnant silence.

“Back from the swamp that used to be Farron, I see. How is your leather armor even still holding together?”

Adrian stood and pivoted to face him, his face neutral but his eyes daring. The sides of his lips jerked as though they desperately sought to smile, but decided ill against it. “Through sheer determination, a wish, and a prayer” he replied flatly, looking at the other man straight into his amber brown eyes. When Hawkwood raised an eyebrow, the assassin sighed. Part of him didn't want to resist laughing and teasing the man, but the other half raged against it, fully aware that he had reduced the Legion to mere ashes and that he hadn't even placed them yet in their rightful resting place. No, he needed to be somber, and come to terms with the fact he'd either have to tell the man or let him know indirectly through the grapevine. Looking away and down at the ground, Adrian cleared his throat.

“Yeah, you probably don't want to get too close to me, I smell worse than I look,” he grumbled in a suddenly scratchy, froggy voice. Hawkwood snorted and began to wander off, gazing at the other man through the sides of his eyes. When the assassin saw the back of Hawkwood and watched him walk down the hill, he ran to the same spot, flung his weapons and sack on a boulder and violently peeled off his clothes to be discarded in the same pile. He fished the soap out of his rucksack, and began to urgently scrub at his skin and hair. The water around him turned a pale foamy pink and stray bits of long dark hair floated to the top as he washed himself so hard his fingers bled at the tips of the nails. Speaking of hard, his mind was so devoured by the need to be clean his flesh didn't rise when his slender hands gently rubbed under and over foreskin.

Once he was clean and dry enough to slip into the new leathers, he began the arduous process of getting his legs into the trousers and up over his hips; even though water wasn't beading on his legs, there was enough residue moisture just from skin absorbing water that made the leather stuck to his legs like leeches.

Now that he didn't look like a bloodthirsty Hollow, he ran back to the shrine, leaving small trails of dust in his stead. He had a responsibility to tell Hawkwood about what he had done, what he had to do, before he presented the Cinders to the Abyss Watchers' throne. It was only right. He knew it would likely sour anything that was going on in between the lines with the deserter and himself, but it was best in the long run. Not that he could be said to be a truly noble heart, but Adrian didn't like the idea of dragging out emotionally murdering someone. Everything suggested the man had some sort of residual feelings about the Undead Legion, so it was only fair that he deliver the news as soon and as cleanly as possible. 

After all, those were skills of an assassin, just put towards a different, less immediately lethal end. An assassin who wasn't quick and neat when it came to delivering death weren't of any particular worth.

He found himself standing rather vacantly in front of Hawkwood, and given the man craned his neck up at him with the most confused expression, his own face must have been an interesting sight. Realizing that he probably looked foolish, he shifted uncomfortably, his new boots squeaking against one another.

“Well, surely you're here to say something rather than stand around like a scarecrow,” the man chuckled darkly, his raspy timbre enough to snap Adrian out of his trance. He then let out a sudden breath, and clenched his eyes closed. He bit his lower lip and mumbled, “I had to kill them. I had to, I promise, I had to, but I didn't want to. They're dead. Gone. Actual cinders of the Lords. I'm sorry.” It came out almost like a rambling cry or squeak. His toes curled up in his boots instead of balling his hands up into fists and he let out a loud pant at the end of the sentence. The room suddenly felt incredibly still and small and sweltering in that silence. He swore he could hear Hawkwood blink in those tense moments. 

The peal of manic laughter that interrupted the quiet disturbed Adrian enough to open his eyes wide. After Hawkwood had stopped chortling, he spat out with a venomous, sarcastic edge, “Of course you did, Lord Seeker. It wouldn't have ended any other way.” His eyes stared balefully straight into Adrian's own, and it made his skin crawl with the way the shadow of both the man's chain mail helm and the shadows of the shrine fell across his face. At this point, he was fairly sure his discomfort was pretty visible, not that he could really see it himself. He definitely did not feel up to fighting an actual fully sane person, let alone another Undead. 

“Ooh, what could I possibly do to you that is worse than the knowledge that your fate is to either lose all your memories and sense or self, or for your soul to be burned from your body to provide fuel for a fading, weak flame?” he quipped, his voice less cantankerous, almost a soft reassuring croon, even. One corner of his mouth had flicked up in an amused smile, and Adrian couldn't help but titter at that. It was probably the closest thing he'd ever see to Hawkwood actually grinning and showing his teeth. He'd take it. Not exactly the right time to say he'd look better if he'd just fucking smile for once, anyways. While the other man wasn't exactly what Adrian call “pretty”, he was handsome, in a forlorn, tortured sort of way.

After placing the cinders of the Abyss Watchers at their rightful throne Adrian murmured with a subtle frown, “I'll just leave for a bit since you don't seem like you want my company right now.” His entire body pivoted in place, and he strode to the bonfire, floating his right hand, feeling hotly hugged by the warming leather, over the coiled sword. He had just began to phase out of the Firelink Shrine when he heard “No, Adrian-.”

His destination was the Road of Sacrifices. He was more than fairly certain he missed a few abandoned items there in his mad dash to get away from the giant crabs and the shambling Hollows that carried logs and bludgeoned trespassers with them. While the area definitely left a lot to be desired, he'd sooner jerk off a hungry drake than retread what he missed in Farron Keep. Anyways, he thought that he hadn't looked over the area that the returning Black Knight protected closely enough. At the time, it seemed so tough that he didn't bother poking around too much in fear he'd come across a whole company of the bastards. After fighting the Abyss Watchers, he felt pretty confident he could cope.

He almost felt disappointed when he found no more after defeating the demonic appearing sentinel. That disappointment soon turned into glee when he found a shiny new pair of ornate paired scimitars and some strange coal he was certain Andre could use to infuse weapons with. Putting his old scimitar sheathed into his rucksack, he took out the twinblades and slashed at the air with them to get a feel for them. Their weight in his hands felt like pure bliss; individually, they were only marginally heavier than his lone scimitar, but they still whirled in the air just as elegantly. While his left hand couldn't operate them as deftly, as he wasn't ambidextrous, with a little practice he could wield them as competently as he wielded the singular curved sword, he imagined. With the Sharp Gem he extracted from a crystal lizard in the Undead Settlement, he'd go back to Andre and have it infused into his new favorite weapons.

After he managed to slay both of the giant crabs haunting the area by luring them close to the stairs of the ruins that led to the Crystal Sage bonfire and plunging on them, he dashed across the water and darted his way past the shuffling Hollows on the store to the Crucifixion Woods bonfire. Closing his eyes, he pictured the Shrine, and blinked out of existence from the bright yet somehow still moody humid forest and phased into the darker, pensive melancholia of Firelink. He ignored the startled but discrete swaying of Hawkwood for a moment to have the Fire Keeper channel souls into his own for power, only sporadically listening to her prayer over the gentle chiming of the soul transformation. He sheathed his new weapons at his sides, his staff now clipped beside it. Feeling distinctly more confident, he ambled to Hawkwood to stand catercorner from his sitting form, perhaps a little closer than he should be. He cast a frighteningly long, spidery shadow over Hawkwood and the area behind him. Adrian winced at it.

 

The sitting warrior craned his head to look up into the near-obsidian eyes of the man before him, one of his hands sliding back from their position closer to his knees to one on his upper thigh. He sharply inhaled and dropped his gaze to Adrian's clothed collarbones before softly saying, “Ah, I failed to thank you for helping them find their final resting place.” He let out a deep, but breathy chuckle before continuing. “I pity the sorry souls. Is that really lordship's last reward?” he followed with another deeply sardonic laugh and a snarl. For a moment, the assassin felt a little guilty (of what? Doing what he was supposed to be doing?), and the right end of his mouth twitched into a brief scowl. Yet he doubted an apology would suffice, and his usual playful and irreverent demeanor would be inappropriate, to say the least. Still, it still managed to slip his lips.

“I'm sorry,” he said weakly, knowing how hollow those words must feel, especially after saying them once more. Actions spoke louder but he felt too awkward to even attempt to reach out. Hawkwood let a loud breath escape him, and he muttered gravely, eyes falling to the ground, “That makes two of us, then.” He tapped his boots on the ground in an irregular rhythm as he looked back up at Adrian. “You can sit, you know,” he murmured, “You look like you need it.” His hand patted a space down and beside him to his left. Promptly, Adrian sat close by, practically on the ashen floor, though not close enough that their bodies touched, and folded his legs. Even sitting, he was taller than Hawkwood. He reached through his rucksack, and pulled out a sable colored hat that came to a point curved upwards both in the front and back. When he placed it on his head after peeling back his hood and smoothing out his hair, the man on his right tilted his head towards him and made a slight scoffing noise, barely audible enough to hear.

“Where did you even find that?” he asked in a half-dubious tone, his brow lowering and creasing together. Adrian noticed he was actually leaning just slightly forward, but not too much, as if to not look too intrigued. Turning his head towards him, and giving him a small, modest smile, he straightened out his posture and rolled his shoulders back. He replied quite simply, “On some strange grotesque and massive creature out in the interior of Farron Keep. I didn't ask questions on its origin because I was a bit busy not dying from poison.” A bit of his front teeth showed as his lips parted just slightly into a bolder grin. Just as he suspected, Hawkwood looked at him even more bemusedly, his eyes wide and mouth agape in disbelief. “So you took it and now you're wearing it,” he evenly stated.

“Yes,” he replied, his face finally breaking into a full blown toothy grin, “I'll make sure to keep you posted if I end up with lice. Besides, just look at it. I'm now twice as dashing while still being just as ominous.” Now he was completely turned towards Hawkwood with his arms spread and up towards the ceiling. He arched an eyebrow at Adrian and stared. He looked as though he intended it to be severe, but the quaking corners of his mouth and the twitching of his thin cheeks betrayed his amusement. Dropping his smile, the assassin then cleared his throat. He shifted even closer to Hawkwood and onto his feet, close enough that their knees almost touched.

“I don't know how you're feeling right now and I probably shouldn't make jokes when you're obviously mourning. I mean, I remember seeing you grieving at one of the headstones,” he nearly whispered in a hushed voice, shifting maladroitly on his ankles, “Whatever you're feeling is probably very complex and nuanced, especially now. A-anyways. I'm not very good at being serious with other people, heh heh, it probably shows. I guess you armor yourself with sardonicism and I armor myself with wit.” His eyes met Hawkwood's, whose expression seemed torn and intent on deciphering him, splintering him into chunks of intelligible information. Clicking his tongue, the other man looked away and at the bonfire, as if the answers to his unspoken questions lie there. Tired of squatting, Adrian finally sat, one leg propped up and one stretched out, and draped his left arm across his bent leg. He rubbed his thumb of that hand against his index finger, then against the dark leather of his trousers. Somehow, the silence fit.

Watching the Fire Keeper stroll to the other side of the pit and sit, her attention elsewhere, Adrian mumbled, “You didn't have to help me, but you did, so I thank you. Again.” He decided he'd be slightly subdued in encouraging whatever lie beneath that stony exterior to come to life and touched the other man's closest arm. Giving him a warm, sincere smile, he added, “Even if it means I need to just piss off, let me know what I can do for you.” He so badly wanted to add darling with a husky intonation, but that would be far too direct and unseemly. No, let Hawkwood question the layered meaning. Let him be direct without actually being direct, weave subtext into subtext into subtext and out, until it surpassed into actual text and more than mere innuendo. Let his meaning be opaque, it cracked to show its real contents. Two could play this game, and Adrian played to win. Always.

His touch lingered for a moment later, and he withdrew, the flickering light of the fire playing with the coy glint in his eyes as he observed Hawkwood's response. He almost thought he had actually said darling for a moment; Hawkwood's stern expression actually looked flustered, the same alarmed expression from the other night when Adrian had noticed his… attention. He couldn't help but smirk and chuckle. The other man then ripped the mirth from the moment by answering him, “I'm not s- just finish what you sodding started.” He cocked his head and an eyebrow at this, pondering its meaning for a half second. It couldn't be? “Ah, the whole duty of the Unkindled, right,” he chuckled, a tinge of doubting trailing his sentence and laugh. They hadn't truly ever discussed that night.

And they wouldn't, at least, not at this time. He wasn't that cruel.

But it certainly haunted his thoughts, because Hawkwood clearly skirted around the issue, and he knew better than to force some kind of acknowledgment from someone clearly not ready to discuss it. This was precisely the kind of behavior he was used to in Vinheim, the dancing around this sort of passion and swallowing it whole to unleash it like a shameful dragon's breath in private. Yet that's how he acted, too. And at this thought, he winced, and drowned it, the thought and pained expression, quickly. 

“You are more like them than you know,” Hawkwood stated, interrupting Adrian's racing thoughts. Jilted out of his mind, he nodded and smiled knowingly, though he felt it probably looked stilted. The irony wasn't lost on him, the same kind of irony of the Watchers of the Abyss being undone from the darkness within the legion, and the individuals of the legion. “And yet,” he replied, smile crawling into something more accidentally, something probably more sinister than it should be, “You remain because you're not. I don't intend my fate to be the same as theirs.” The other man snorted loudly, and replied, “I didn't mean it that way.” A merciful silence fell over the two of them. Now with both legs propped upright into triangles, Adrian wrapped his arms around them and gently rocked.

Remembering that he needed to take the Farron coal to Andre, he stood up and dusted off the backside of his legs and buttocks, not that the task wasn't ultimately futile he'd eventually get them dirty again. Giving Hawkwood a quick nod of his head, he paced over to Andre, and pulled out the coal, telling him, “I found this at Farron Keep.” The steadfast blacksmith clasped the glowing coal that waited in that small, ornate box. His attention went from the coal, then to the assassin, and he grinned widely. When Andre divulged it came from Farron Keep and was used to forge the weapons of the Abyss Watchers, Adrian eagerly had his new dual blades infused with the Sharp Gem. What he lacked in sheer strength, he more than made up for in finesse.

He paid Orbeck a quick visit, exchanging the last of his souls to learn a spell to temporarily buff his sword with magical energy. From the moment they met in the Road of Sacrifice, he knew that the man was also an assassin, just from his simple black garb. He'd wager that everyone from Vinheim would. He found it nice to chat with the younger looking man over everything from magical theory to how much of a pisshole Vinheim was before they got exiled. Vinheim had a strict policy of exiling all Undead, and they shared the shame that their career as a sorcerer got cut short by that one little detail. Though, the particulars as to why they became assassins differed: Adrian simply preferred it to living a life pouring over books and scrolls, while Orbeck had been much too poor to attend the academy otherwise.

As he said his goodbye, he promised he'd search for more scrolls, so they could both learn new sorceries. 

He gave Hawkwood a single solemn, longing glance (which probably spoke too loud, but allow him once just to be bare) and a brisk wave before he again sought out to use the bonfire to travel.


	6. Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter definitely features masturbation. Yup, still no horizontal tango. You know you love it.
> 
> Focused on Adrian again, this one's longer. c:

When he awoke the next morning, Hawkwood had already left. Adrian went through the trouble of checking all areas of the Cemetery of Ash, even unlocking the Bell Towers and getting trapped inside when a strange black leather clad bald headed fellow attempted to trap him inside. Luckily for the Vinheim assassin, he had a spell that allowed him to jump down to the bottom of the second tower dedicated to dead Fire Keepers without so much as twisting an ankle. The new shifty resident, who called himself Patches “the Unbreakable” (whatever that meant, however doubtful), pleaded for his life at the assassin who shot him a severe, if quite exaggerated, scowl and glare. Despite the eerie coincidence of the deserter's disappearance and appearance of the new Firelink resident, Patches insisted he hadn't so much as seen the distinctly dressed sourpuss. Ever. And, much to his own shock, the tricky bastard actually seemed sincere about that too.

After checking one last time, he did find a busted wooden shield sitting against the same grave headstone he often found Hawkwood in front of. He didn't know whether the man intentionally left it, so he merely left it there. But… it did make him smile. After fighting the Watchers of the Abyss, he surmised that Hawkwood was most assuredly nothing like them save for the metaphorical greatsword shoved up his arse. Not that he didn't blame him… or mind even, given that's exactly the reason he found the deserter so interesting to begin with. Plus, he found some delicious irony in the man sarcastically calling them “a joyous bunch.” 

Frowning at Patches, which was hardly an exaggeration, Adrian turned to asking the other residents.

Save Leonhard, of course. He already knew he would get an amused chuckle from the Ringfinger. Both of them knew exactly what kind of man the other one was. The fact they were so different, yet so alike disturbed Adrian. Now, he didn't believe he was a better, more moral man than Leonhard, who spoke openly and unabashedly about killing other Unkindled to pillage their Embers. In fact, he'd go as far to say in a lot of ways, his dealing of death had a more sinister spin to it. He didn't do it under some deluded, if perversely noble, pledge to a goddess. No, he took up the mantle because it pleased him. He supposed he wasn't nice, not really, but since when did the world allow for such bold declarations of morality? The world was wicked, full of wicked people whose intentions far exceeded killing a few people that would probably do worse in his place. And yet the thought of pillaging Embers and tongues explicitly for the favor of a goddess gave him more pause than the fact in the end, the only person he killed for was himself.

Not that he didn't have some sort of twisted romantic side. Adrian ended up purchasing the Undead Legion armor from the handmaiden, sans for the helm of course, as he liked his new hat too much. Plus, he didn't like to conceal his pretty, pretty face that much. He thought the world should at least remember the Abyss Watchers, and what better to echo them in spirit, with his hyper aggressive combat tendencies? Well, it would go only so far because he refused to give up his twinblades.

Naturally, Greirat had been the only person to witness Hawkwood using the bonfire to travel. He hadn't actually told the thief where he had gone, or actually said much of anything prior to his departure. Not that this shocked Adrian, but it meant finding the man that much more interesting. He knew he very well caused it; the man had very well resigned himself to just holing up in the shrine while the world withered away. It shouldn't surprise him, but still a part of him felt sad for the loss. 

He decided it would be best to look for him at Farron Keep; after all, did Hawkwood not mourn his past? 

Adrian immediately swirled into existence in the large room where he found the Abyss Watchers, cringing as the humidity and the smell of the swamp hit his nose like an angry, charging bull. “Of course he wouldn't be in the first place I check,” he mumbled to himself as he gazed around the noticeably empty room. The blood from the battle still stained the floor, and the bodies still laid in messy uneven piles everywhere. At least the smell hadn't gotten too much worse than how the swamp around the area already smelled. The ivy on the walls and the plants sprouting from the ground only emphasized this place's prime had long since passed. Nothing lasted forever, save perhaps time.

He squinted as he emerged from the dim room, forgetting for a short moment the area swarmed with Ghru. Instead of engaging them, he merely sprinted to the ruin perimeter at the opposite end of the path, ignoring their attempts to swipe at him. Dead grass and leaves crunched under his boots as the Ghru wailed in their pursuit. Eventually, they bored of attempting to catch him, and went back to their apparent posts when he managed to skid to the bonfire, panting with beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. He knelt over with his hands on his knees, and caught his breath before standing up fully. Silently, he thanked the mysterious force that prevented his hat from flinging off in those brief but far too long moments where all he could hear was the beating of his heart in his ears and his ragged breath because he just wanted to avoid combat and avoid wasting time.

Waiting for the two Darkwraiths to stalk past, Adrian then dashed down the slope and past the strange half crow, half human corvians and out of the stone gate. Taking a deep breath and switching to breathing through his mouth, lest he get sick and vomit everywhere partly out of anxiety, he trudged through the mud and onto the toppled bridge that led to yet another bonfire. Of course, Hawkwood wasn't here either, at least not that he could immediately see. But just to be thorough, he'd check the entire perimeter if he had to. Purple moss clumps weren't that expensive, and the poison from the fumes weren't that terrible, more so an annoying than anything that would threaten his life. In any case, he'd just spring up like a bad memory at a bonfire if he died. And he'd probably writhe in pain and puke too. His favorite part about being Undead had to be dying and still feeling any residual emotions or other sorts of bodily feelings after coming back to life.

Now that thought had him beaming for almost a fraction of a second before it returned to a contemptuous snarl, so desperately trying to avoid smelling much of anything, as he ambled to one of the sides. All this time, he hadn't bothered to explore where the ladder in a clearing led to. Well, at least he had reason to climb it. After slicing the large leeches that lied waiting at the bottom of it to disgusting gelatinous shreds, Adrian clambered up, and proceeded to stop and stair when he made it to the top. 

Sitting across from the unlit bonfire on the left was an enormous, emaciated black wolf. The poor thing hardly even looked alive, and it only very shallowly breathed as it slept. He lit the bonfire, keeping his eye on the wolf, and frowned when the sudden burst of sound and light didn't even make its eyes move behind the eyelids. He ambled out of the opposite archway from which he came, went around the balcony not only to check if the deserter was up on this building on platforms, but if he was down below. Hawkwood was neither. After that unrewarding venture, he went up the flight of stairs and onto a platform elevator, humming an aimless tune as the gears and chains ground and clanked. 

Might not have had Hawkwood at the top, but the sight stopped him just as the sight of the wolf had stopped him in awe.

By the first flame, he could see… well, maybe not quite everything, but he could see Lothric and the Undead Settlement, and then some. And it was so bright and yellow up there. Infinitely expansive. He towered above the purple canopy, and could actually see the tops of the towers where flame once burned. For a moment, he forgot the world around him was dying and crumbling. How could he not, when this sight was so breath taking? Looking around, he saw more stairs, and what a surprise, no Hawkwood to share this moment with! But when he went up the stairs, he promptly turned around on his heels. This was a closed, broken bridge over to Lothric, and near the gate he could see the stony, gray, giant, and grotesque figure of a stray demon holding a gigantic club. Adrian didn't feel up to fighting a hulking demon today. Taking in the sight of the afternoon horizon a few more seconds, he took the platform down, this time in silence. He scratched at the stubble on his chin pensively.

As frantic as he was to find Hawkwood, Adrian accepted that he simply could not look everywhere, and he still had to seek the remaining missing Lords of Cinder. This, he would take as seriously as his duty as a clandestine sorcerer who took home in shadow and blood. To be honest, he didn't know what he would say if and when he found him. To come back? He thought this over as he made his way back to the ladder and slid down, careful not to let go as the sides slipped through his protected fingers. He came to no conclusions on what he would talk about. When mud squelched beneath his boots, he began to wind around to head to the nearest bonfire. 

After abruptly slaughtering the three Ghru standing outside the small ruined building that contained the bonfire in a flurry of swipes, slashes, and swings, Adrian stood before the bonfire, his hand held over the coiled sword in the all too familiar gesture. Closing his eyes, he reappeared at Firelink, and flicked them open. He hadn't returned, which Adrian thought as much. Ash beneath his feet shifted and softly hissed as he walked towards Andre, then down the stairs to stop before Orbeck, who sat with his arms folded across his chest in an x. The assassin parted his lips into a very broad grin, fully aware he likely looked a little rough from his oh so pleasant poison pit of Farron. 

The other sorcerer returned the grin, although his was a bit more wry and subdued. “What is it you want, Adrian?” he asked, looking at him curiously. Waiting only a moment for Orbeck to finish his question, he replied, “Could you teach me the Farron Flashsword spell, please? I have the souls, if you've got the time. I did give you the scroll, after all.” His smile waned a little, but his expression remained friendly. Orbeck briskly nodded, and replied, “Then let us walk to the arena together, where I can teach you without fear of accidentally harming any innocents.” And they strolled out of the Shrine together out of the main entrance, after Adrian handed over the souls.

On their way, Adrian asked him in an even tone in order to not be perceived as antagonistic, “Do you frown upon the fact I took much delight in killing during my time in Vinheim?” Orbeck stopped for a moment, his mouth opening long before he spoke, searching for the right word choice and his eyes scanning over the person before him. “I find it… well, disturbing, but you seem to have a decent enough head on shoulders. You're no brute, if that's what you're looking for,” he responded with a slight shrug, his expression fairly neutral as he continued to walk with the other man. Adrian's head turned to watch Orbeck as they approached the Iudex Gundyr bonfire.

“Of course I'm not,” he said, smirking slyly, “I know how to say 'thank you', 'you're welcome,' and 'please,' my dear friend. Also, can't say that I howl at the moon, or dance naked under it or that matter.” The other man covered his mouth and trembled as he desperately tried to stifle a giggle. Eventually, he calmed, and smoothed down his black shirt. Clearing his throat, Orbeck said, “You'll want to get out your catalyst, of course. Stand on the opposite side of the bonfire for me, you'll want to be a little further away so you don't accidentally hit me. You'll need to concentrate on forming a magical sword with and from your staff, then whip it across the air and let it dissipate in a smooth motion. Here, I'll show you.” Standing more than a few arm's lengths away, he unclipped his own staff from his belt, held it with his right hand, and a glowing light blue sword materialized around it as he swung it. It then disappeared as quickly as he had managed to will it into being, and the man before him grinned eagerly.

He wondered how often Hawkwood saw that sorcery being used, if at all. 

“Now you try.”

Furrowing his brow in concentration, Adrian held the staff in his left hand, which honestly felt more comfortable to him, being so used to casting spell using that hand and using the right to wield his sword. He fought the urge to close his eyes as he channeled energy to it, willing the magical energy to manifest as a sword surrounding the catalyst. At first, glowing blue energy rippled from the staff, then sputtered and faded. Cursing, Adrian tried again, this time managing to have the energy sword complete more in form before fizzing out before completion. He drew in a huffy breath, then cast it again. The sword fully formed at last, allowing him to swing it before releasing the magical energy, dispersing it. Now smiling, he very quickly bowed, though it was much less extravagant and prideful than it could have been.

Orbeck began clapping, smiling crookedly at the success of his pupil. “Well done, Adrian. Do a more few practice swings and we can move on to you practicing on some of the Hollows around here under my supervision,” he instructed, clipping his staff back to his belt. Without any sort of hesitation, Adrian drank an ashen flask with his right hand, same phosphorescent hue as his magic, then focused on his staff. Another well-formed sword swathed it, and then he flicked it horizontally in the air in front of him. He did this a few more times, becoming more and more confident with each casting, taking a swig of his ashen flask after a few more casts. After an affirmative nod from Orbeck, the two Vinheim students-turned-professional killers marched out of the archway, and Adrian proceeded to cut the surrounding blue garbed Hollows down with a rapid succession of wrist flicks and luminous blue magic sword swings. Their raspy, weary wails pierced their ears.

“With as quick as you learn sorceries, I'm amazed you never… aspired for more. You could have been quite the target of envy,” Orbeck stated with a tiny grin, hoping what he just said hadn't offended the other. Adrian sighed thoughtfully and replied with a creaky voice, “Probably because these sorceries are a bit… practical, and I wasn't interested in becoming a sorcerer-swordsman. Could you imagine me as a right and proper knight, spending more time 'm'lording' and 'm'ladying' and doing guard shifts than actually using a damn sword and spell? There's a difference between disciplined and masochistic. Yeah.” A strident, cynical laugh escaped him, and for a moment he felt like he had become Hawkwood. He then pursed his lips. 

The other man arched an eyebrow, and crossed his arms, tapping out a rhythm with his fingers resting against his slender arms. After a minute or two of pondering what to say, the shorter of the two stated, “I'm just surprised with someone with so much magical talent has an inversely proportional amount of ambition. Forgive me if I seem overbearing. It's just that… I enjoy our little private school of magic, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't immensely jealous that not only have you found long lost scrolls full of spells not known to the likes of Vinheim, but you learn and master spells with such ease.” 

Adrian shrugged. “Obviously life's got a strange sense of humor if you're jealous of me,” he quipped with a modest grin, reaching over to pat the man's back. Looking down at the man beside him, he was more than aware he was easily more than a head and a half taller. Now, granted, Adrian was indeed quite the beanpole, but his companion made him seen even more of a tower, being so short and slight. Not only that, Orbeck admitted to being younger, though only by a scant few years, not that age really meant much when you were Undead. His eyes drifted from the other man's eyes, which admittedly were fixated on him so he shouldn't be even be doing this, to his lips, and he bit his own. Had this been cycles before, before when he had failed to fulfill the relighting of the first flame, in his impulsiveness he'd none too subtly pursue his mentor and he'd be proud of his imprudence when the other man caved into his beastly desires. He'd goad the smaller man into taking him roughly, almost violently, and impishly laugh when he became frustrated with Adrian's seductive taunting to make it that much more brutal. Oh, Orbeck might have been weaker, but he reckoned that the man could still dish out a good broken nose. He'd lie back and arch his back and wish that it was Hawkwood, but with his eyes open of course, he wasn't that rude. He'd eagerly meet every thrust with a tilt of his pelvis and bite his knuckles until they were bloody to keep himself from moaning the name of his true desires. Or perhaps he'd just become so bloody obnoxious and loud the other man would cram a sock into his obscene mouth so he'd only produce muffled noises and drool.

Good thing that man no longer existed, then, huh? Not that it wasn't tempting.

Still, Orbeck noticed the attention he was getting and tilted his head slightly with a quirked eyebrow, but said nothing of it as they trotted back to the shrine. Adrian knew that his gaze had been less than subtle, and even if it had been, someone else schooled in the fine art of recognizing little expressions, such as an assassin, would be able to read him like a book. Before they reached the entrance of the shrine on their way back, the other man awkwardly cleared his throat and stopped. “With all due respect, Adrian, we both know I'm not your type and I'll remind you that you're my pupil here,” he said in a low but non-threatening voice. The other assassin chuckled, ceasing his walking as well, and replied with a coy smile, “Oh, I'm aware. I am well aware. Just thought I'd keep you on your toes and hopefully loosen you up a little. Not that way, you're just very tense, sweetheart. Nothing wrong with just looking, provided you don't act for me. I assure you that my hands will remain to myself.” Anyone could have easily overheard this reply, which was much louder than the sentiment it answered.

That elicited a restrained laugh from Orbeck, who quickly covered his mouth and turned pink at the cheeks. After waiting a couple of beats and calming down, he straightened out his shoulder and brushed off his pants. “Tell me now,” he replied wryly, “how often did your behavior succeed?” Adrian gave him an uneven, lewd smirk. After darting his eyes back and forth, he leaned in and whispered with a waggle of his eyebrows, “More often that you'd think, but less often than I'd hope. Don't tell anyone I'm not all that successful, I have a reputation to uphold in the apocalypse.” His own hair on the back of his neck stood up at the soothing crispy, crinkling noises of his own whispers. 

Now bright red with crinkled eyes, Orbeck mock-scolded him, “Do try to be more appropriate, because I sincerely doubt caning you would have the intended effect.” Before walking back into the shrine, Adrian replied, “Just for you, Master Orbeck. I wouldn't want to bring disgrace to the school.” The taller man turned to face the shorter, who was touching his pink face with a hand and quaking with contained laughter. Every so often, his shoulders and stomach twitched. Ordinarily, he'd drop his neck down a little to see if this little situation had any other effects, but after their bawdy discussion he decided it was a little much. Besides, at his height, gazing down to see if someone's trousers were tented seriously didn't go unnoticed, especially when the subject of one's gaze was located a bit closer to the ground than oneself. 

He decided he'd continue searching along the way to the other Lords of Cinder, and the way to continue, he knew, would be to go through the mausoleum, under the dunes of Carthus. Now, he'd freely admit to hating the idea of being underground, and he had the smattering of an idea that in the Catacombs, he'd probably find reanimated corpses, which were quite different from the Undead. He could deal with dragons, the disfigured experiments of mad Vinheim sorcerer-scientists, Hollows that sprouted draconic sludge that had a will of its own, and bloated righteous evangelists, but he hated skeletons, as ironic as it was given his profession. The rotten dogs that chased him pretty much everywhere he went frightened him, and he couldn't quite explain why, other than necromancy gave him the creeps. Then again, he supposed that it might stem from the same apprehension behind the existence of Undead. 

He hardly through about the motions of the bonfire sending him to the one in the building he fought the Abyss Watchers. At this point, muscle memory and instinct took over. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the insides, and when they did, he promptly noticed that the stone coffin at the end of the building moved to reveal a set of descending stairs. At least in his leather armor, he'd be warm. Or were the Catacombs of Carthus warm? He didn't know. Guess he'd found out, wouldn't he? As he frowned solemnly, he slowly descended the stairs, steadying himself by sliding his hands down the stone walls. When he reached the bottom shortly there after, he closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and strode forward into the slightly better lit than expected, cavernous brown-gray catacombs. He felt the chill of the air against his cheeks, though he had no way of knowing if that was a natural consequence of it being underground, or if it were the result of the magic in the area.

Shuddering, Adrian cautiously walked to the stone bridge, taking note of the very gentle echoing of his footsteps that sliced into the still silence of the catacombs. When he reached it, a pile of bones beside him to the left began to shake, then coalesced together into a skeleton wielding a falchion. Inside its skull, eerie blue lights twinkled. Before it even had the chance, Adrian leaped into action, slapping the broader part of the twinblades against the reanimated skeleton, hoping that with enough force, the magic holding together its form would become undone. The bones dropped into a clinking pile of disarray and dust before vibrating and once more assembling into a fully formed, though broken skeleton. The moment it rouse, his scimitars colliding against the rib cage with a solid thunk. Bones collapsed, but this time they stayed on the stone brick floor.

Just when his attention shifted from the jumbled mound of bones, he noticed movement from the archway at the far end of the bridge. Glittering blue sparks set deep in a bare skull caught his eyes, as did the cape and armor the fully ambulatory skeleton donned. In its right hand, it held a quite large curved sword, easily twice the size of the ones he held in his hands. In a blink of an eye, the skeleton, which miraculously stood just slightly taller than Adrian, curled up in a ball and began to roll, of all things, towards him. The assassin quickly rolled out of the way, turning to watch it come to a complete stop and jump onto its feel in a single, neat motion. If he weren't being attacked, he might have stopped to admire the dexterity of his opponent as it twirled on its ankles to swing at empty at with its giant scimitar as Adrian just barely back stepped out of the barrage. He cringed as he felt the small gust the moving blade produced.

Adrian took the very short time of inactivity between blows to charge at the skeleton himself with a storm of blades, clashing them down on the foe not to slash but to bludgeon. It didn't work as well as a mace or club, alas, but it's what he had. After skillfully dodging some more attacks, and getting nicked a few times by the very end of the enemy's blade, he managed to finally fell it with a powerful sweep that reduced the Carthus swordsman to nothing but a big pile of bones and dust. Satisfied with his success, he began to cautiously stalk down the bridge, walking on the balls of his feet to make the least noise possible as he approached an archway. 

Under the dimmer light of that room with several columns, he could see more suspicious arrangements of forgotten bones, as well as pacing skeletal sentries that wore the same armor as the one he had just vanquished. With a swift casting of a spell to dampen the sound of his footsteps, he proceeded to glide to his left to the now frantically wobbling mound of bones near a staircase up. Before all of the bones could come together to form a full human skeleton, he began to attack, silently hoping the noise of battle didn't alert the patrolling. An arrow whizzed past his head into the wall as the skeleton crumbled into a now inert collection of chipped bones.

Adrian craned his head up and saw the skeleton archer pulling an arrow from a leather quiver. Snarling, he dashed to the stairs, jumping up them and ducking last second as it shot an arrow at the space where his head once was just a moment ago. After another whirlwind of blows that were less slashes and more smacks. He briefly looked over the new view of the antechamber of the catacombs, biting back a sigh. The quiet that hung over the place meant that any noise he made would draw that much more attention. Swiftly, he took both of his swords in one hand, unclipped his staff, and cast a magical buff spell over both of his swords. He then returned the catalyst to his hip, and the other scimitar to his other hand. Turning with a swish of his cape, Adrian slunk towards the stalking armored skeleton, distinctly aware of the rippling blue luminosity and soft humming his weapons now produced. Luckily, it turned its back to him.

There were mere moments between bringing down the scimitars on the skeleton's back and the skeleton turning to face Adrian and side stepping with amazing agility. If it weren't for the weapons involved, the circling, the feinting of blows, and the dodging would look like a dueling dance. Both participants were unrelenting, no moment wasted as they tested each others weaknesses. But Adrian proved the more agile of the two, his chest heaving and breath panting when the skeleton finally burst into a shower of raining bones. He took a moment to collect his breath as the spell on his blades faded, leaving him in an eerie, complete silence other than the sounds of his own voice. His hands trembled with adrenaline. Now, he wasn't completely unscathed; in his trade of blows, the adversary managed to graze his upper left cheekbone, right under his eye. Only after a few seconds of calm did the sharp stinging of the slash and the warm oozing of blood down the side of his face register.

The assassin twitched and shuddered as a single sanguine droplet ran off his face and onto the floor. He deftly sheathed his right scimitar and brought the black leather gloved hand to his face, touching and putting pressure on the gash. Absentmindedly, he drew the hand away from the wound as it began to clot, almost sliding it down to his lips as his lips parted, the very tip of his tongue gingerly flicking over the bloodied fingers. On his tongue he tasted the iron of the blood, made slightly more metallic by the fact he had been holding onto the scimitar for a while, as well as a faint trace of conditioning oil from the leather. 

In that moment he wondered how the Undead Legion of Farron took the Blood of the Wolf. Did they consume it like a fine wine?

He shook his head briskly, forcing himself out of his mind to focus on the task ahead. Finding the Lords of Cinder first, Hawkwood second. Unsheathing his right scimitar, he strode onto the next corridor, noting its many pillars, the soft flickering of candles, two archways, one which ostensibly led out into the open, and the duo scimitar wielding sentinels. Rather than engage them both, he decided to merely cast the spell to silence his movement, and made a mad dash for the opposite end, not even taking time to look behind him as he darted into a darker room that led to a ladder at the far end. He slid down the later, and nearly jumped when he turned around and saw Anri not far from him, clutching her helmeted forehead and puffing out harsh breaths.

Almost immediately, her attention snapped to Adrian, whose face had briefly blanched in surprise. Her voice was surprisingly chipper, despite the (almost quite literally) chilling, funereal atmosphere.

“Oh hello, how very fortunate. Have you seen my companion, Horace? To my shame, I was snared by a trap, and we've become separated. I've not been able to find him sense.”

Adrian shook his head, feeling his hair gently whip the sides of his face, and his wound. He winced. “I have not,” he replied with a deceptive amount of poise. His eyes darted across her helmet, noting that instead of looking through the visor, she looked through the grated faceplate, and that made the craning of her head to look up at Adrian all that more amusingly innocent.

“Yes, I see. Horace is a valiant knight. He can look after himself, no question. He's probably searching for me right now, with twice the resolve. If you happen upon him, please tell him that I remain in the catacombs and will lay prism stones to guide him, as always. Please send him my word. I beg of you. May the flames guide your way.”

Giving her a quick nod, he stated, “Yes, if I come across him, I'll let him know.” He gave her a curt bow, then headed towards the warm yellow light pouring in from an entrance to another larger room. He recognized it as the entrance, except now he stood before worn stairs that led down, with unlit braziers on the side. At the very foot of the stairs towards another archway, another damned skeleton prowled, clutching a falchion menacingly. Adrian took an abrupt swig of his ashen flask, then augmented his weapons with a spell. As it ascended, the skeleton spotted him and began to sprint. He charged at the skeleton with a cry, not half way down before the grumbling of a very large and very fast object began to roll behind him.

Well, that explained why the stairs were worn away in a concave shape.

Adrian, now ignoring the skeleton, slid into the entrance of the corridor at the bottom, launching himself to the right side. Every bone in his body ached as he slid onto the floor, watching a huge round mass of bones barrel into a closed gate at the end of the room, then watched it bounce back and up the stairs. Movement in front of him caught his eye. Slowly, he propped himself up onto his hands, then sat up. A skeleton, wearing an oddly shaped black hat, stared at him, then darted down the corridor and to the left.

Rolling his eyes, he pushed himself on his feet, dusted himself off, and sprinted after the comically cowardly foe. Soon he caught up to it, treating it to a deluge of harsh blows from the dual scimitars. When he bested it, he noted that it seemed much easier to kill, not to mention it hadn't actually attacked him. While he was busy pondering this, the round ball of bones loudly crashed into the gate behind him, and splintered into dust and bones. He flinched and covered his face as debris briefly rained down on him. With all that racket and fuss, he expected the gate to have burst open, but instead it barely looked dented any further and bones laid all outside it, next to the other rumble and broken switch. For the first time, he noticed behind the gate lie a very softly glowing, unlit bonfire.

It would take about an hour before he ended up on the other side of the bonfire. Along the way, he fought more skeletons, which wasn't much of a surprise, but at one infuriating point he found a group of them that threw urns filled with hexes that tracked his every move, as well as skeletons fused into wheels that liked to try to spin into him. There were a couple giant rats, too, but those irritated him a whole lot less than an endless menagerie of human bone based foes. He never ran into any necromancers, much to his surprise. Once he fought his way to the damn bonfire, he lit it after sheathing his weapons, and nearly collapsed in front of it, so worn from exploring hallways that led to nothing and waterways that held nothing else but misery. 

Leave him to complain about a sweltering swamp, only to have to fight through a cold mausoleum

The heat from the bonfire felt like home, especially since he had trudged through water somewhere along the way to the other side of the broke again. Opening his rucksack, he took a gulp from the estus flask, then just sat there, staring into the fire and bones, wondering if right now, Hawkwood did the same. A faint, tired smile sneaked across his now somewhat dirty face. The slash on his upper cheek had scabbed over a deep maroon, but at least his armor hadn't been damaged much. Nothing a little sewing or patching wouldn't fix, anyways; the chain mail he wore behind the vest remained fully intact. Sighing, he set his hat down and raked his right hand's fingers through his surprisingly sweaty hair. Adrian hadn't found Horace nor Hawkwood and worried for both of them, even though both of them were clearly capable. He had no idea what he'd tell Anri if Horace didn't show up.

He wasn't so much truly sleepy as he was very acutely lonely, a rare feeling indeed for someone used to a certain degree of solitude. Still, it couldn't hurt to briefly rest and gather his strength to continue.

His mind forcefully dragged itself back to thoughts about Hawkwood and subconsciously he clawed at the ground, gripping dust and finely broken stone in his fists. Adrian came to the conclusion that if Hawkwood had stopped running from the task of the Unkindled, he'd ask him to join him. What would the “reunion” be like? Would Hawkwood be indignant that he was followed? Of course, this assumed he'd actually find the deserter. With the way people appeared and disappeared it wouldn't surprise him. But, a tiny shred of hope blazed in his chest.

Well… not just his chest.

His thick leather trousers, fitted with iron kneecaps and plenty of very interesting buckles, had become tighter as he thought more and more of the ex Undead Legion member… and they were fairly tight to begin with. The Undead Legion armor set hugged his features well, which was part of the reason he had became so enamored with them in the first place. His eyes explored the rather silent area, noting that there was nothing in sight, and he clicked his tongue a couple times. Remarkably, even that murmur of a sound echoed off the walls, just barely. When nothing stirred after a wait that seemed ages, he lifted the chainmail “skirt” around his waist and hips, shifted his belt around, and unfastened the laces. Peeling them down just before the buckles he had no intention of undoing out of simple laziness and need, he exposed his dark small clothes and his clothed burgeoning hard-on. Without further ado, he took off his iron gauntlet on his left hand and laid it aside away from the fire, lest it become scorching hot.

A wickedly wanton smirk crossed his face as he watched himself slip the cloth down and around his half-hard erection, dark, curled pubic hair, and testicles. The welcoming warmth of the bonfire kept the cold air from wilting his arousal, and the swaying flames painted his exposed flesh bright bold orange, orange like the sunset. Over his clothed chest, his right hand trailed, as he spat into his left hand and gripped his throbbing member. With the pad of his thumb, he grazed the pink tip and slid the tip under his foreskin, grinning obscenely as he shuddered under the overwhelming sensation. After only a little more teasing, his length thickened and elongated completely.

He closed his eyes, thinking about all the different wild expressions he had seen from Hawkwood that night, particularly the look on his face when he climaxed, then his horror when Adrian had stopped his little show in order to make that aggressive, profane gesture. Adrian wondered how often the man moaned his name in the night, and then he began to slowly stroke his cock and smirked. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and underneath his armor as he thought of calloused hands grasping and clawing at his flesh, everywhere, and of teeth and tongue marking him all over his body. His mind filled with thoughts of being forced onto his knees, his hair yanked to get him in place, and for Hawkwood to thrust his own thick arousal between his lips and thrust deep until Adrian became giddy from the lack of oxygen. In sync with his thoughts and his panting breath, he jittered his hips, groaning as he fucked his hand.

At this point he didn't care if someone walked in on him pleasuring himself; he let any residual shame evaporate. Long ago he accepted the fact he oozed impropriety and sleaze. The only thing he did proper involved the slitting of throats and puncturing of lungs, and oh my, wasn't that a brilliant thing to think about with your hard cock in your hands? Chuckling darkly to himself, he couldn't help but think about that man's wry, sarcastic brand of humor and smile, which was strangely innocent. Slow teasing morphed into desperate, frantic tugging, and he bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He thought of those bitter, mocking chuckles and laughs, then stilled himself for a moment before he teetered over the edge.

The gentle crackling of the bonfire anchored Adrian enough to collect himself. If he had any mind to move, he'd inch away from the bonfire, as the heat radiating from it had gone from pleasant to nearly stifling. It didn't help the activity he was engaging in tended to produce heat and well, sweat. Despite this, he ran his right hand through his hair and swirling his left palm across the head of his member. The sensitivity had him jerking violently. His pace of pleasuring himself returned to a languid one and had his lips quivering madly. It had him feeling even more feverish, if such a thing were possible kneeling before a fire. His head swam with desire inside his body, an ocean of pure hedonism.

He considered what Hawkwood actually looked like, when he smiled, really smiled, not those brief flits of twisting mouth corners or a derisive sneer. But he also considered how rough the man could handle him, considering the large sword he carried around like a burden, and he shivered.

At this point, his erection wept arousal fluids and coated his bare hand. He was trying his very hardest not to get any of his pre-cum or eventual spend all over his armor; getting cum out of leather was impossible, not to mention it would ruin it. He tilted slightly forward on the heels of his boot, moaning at the thought of how debauched he must appear, stroking his aching flesh while still wearing his armor, chainmail and all. At least he didn't wear that silly yet intimidating helmet, then he'd look twice as obscene. And yet the thought of being walked in on somehow made him all the more hard and deep red. Though… it probably wouldn't be as titillating if it were Horace or Anri.

Eventually, his own leisurely pace frustrated him, and once more his fist began to pump his cock in a fast lust-filled frenzy. He curled his toes and tensed his thighs and calves, picturing Hawkwood's hands on his turgid flesh instead of his own. His free hand yanked on his hair as his hips shallowly thrust with each hurried stroke. As a result of his fervor, his breathing came out as stuttered pants and gasps. Sweat soaked his hairline and made the little bit of neck and the barest hint of clavicle that stuck out of his vest and coat glisten. His eyes hadn't opened again, not once, to allow him to sink deep into the realm of fantasy, one he was loath to leave. 

With an almost maniac cry, he spilled all over his bare hand and onto the dusty stone floor as he hit his climax. He let out a tired but satisfied deep sigh. He searched through his rucksack and pulled out a cloth that he promptly used to clean off the spend all over his fingers and cock. The task had him trembling when the scratchy cloth brushed his sensitive flesh in order to clean. None of his seed had gotten on his armor, at least, but now he was exhausted and sweaty. He had no intention of sleeping in such a creepy place, either. After his breath calmed, he pulled up his underwear and trousers and put on his left gauntlet and hat. After wriggling his fingers on his left hand, he stood up. Though he felt woozy and tired, he intended to press on until he reached Irithyl, and then he'd either go back to Firelink or find a safe hidey-hole and sleep. It couldn't be that much longer, could it?

And press on he did.


	7. Out of Exile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gooourd I'm sorry this took so long to write. I've been unable to focus for the past two weeks.
> 
> Belated thanks for 500 views! Can't believe I missed that. And won't be long until this hits 750 either.

Hawkwood had to admit; he felt pretty damn impressed that in the week or so since he had left Firelink Shrine, virtually everywhere he could set foot, Adrian left signs of being there. He just missed running into the Vinheim assassin at several turns, distinctly remembering finding a corpse of a strange, gigantic beast at the foggy gates of Irithyl of the Boreal Valley, its blood still steaming from the frigid ground. Luckily for him, he had found a doll similar to the one Adrian and Anri both carried, which allowed him through the strange, magical barrier. At times, he could see the man, albeit far away, enough so that any sort of shouting he could do would likely go unheard… not that shouting would have been wise. The Pontiff Knights, after all, were practically omnipresent, and if you didn't run into one of them, you ran into one of the horrifically faceless Fire Witches.

He shuddered on the High Wall of Lothric just thinking about Irithyl, despite the warmth from the bonfire he squatted in front of. Darkness constantly shrouded the area, giving the area a feeling of being timeless and isolated from the rest of the world. Of course, snow and cold harassed him at every end, and at times he regretted his chainmail helm. Metal conducts the cold just as well as it does heat, after all. At least the chainmail vest underneath the black dyed leather kept warm. Well, reasonably warm given the circumstances, at any rate. Either way, at least he could say that he still had both his nipples. Laughing softly to himself, he thought about how Adrian would surely have something witty and equally vulgar to say about that.

Irithyl had been surprisingly foggy, perhaps having something to do with all the water nearby. He noticed the fog less in the actual city and more in the outskirts and surrounding areas. Combine that with the chill, the moon, the rather horse-like and unsettling clip clopping of the undead (but not Undead undead) Pontiff Knights patrolling on the cobblestone streets, and the occasional ethereal ghost of the Outrider Knights that didn't really do anything but walk, and the area just screamed “something creepy and unfortunate happened here, by the Old Chaos I don't know what it is but I don't think I want to know because some things are better left forgotten.” And to think Aldrich called that godforsaken place home, his real and true home, even if he made the Cathedral of the Deep his. That actually explained much about the Lord of Cinder. Then, there was Pontiff himself, Sulyvahn…

The city was deceptively maze-like, if not an architectural marvel. At least there were bodies and shallow rapidly cooling pools of blood in the street to give him a good idea of where he should go. Occasionally, the noise of swords clashing, maagic casting, and metal buckling led him to progress, but as he got more and more lost in the city, that became a less common occurrence. He had all but given up on making sense of the layout until he reached a small church, dimly lit by a bonfire and the moonlight. He approached the bonfire and held out his hands to warm up. Right about then, he noticed a single glowing prism stone slightly off to the side, which then led his eye to the body off in the corner, laying among a number of granite statues. Hawkwood had no idea what any of it meant, other than if he could actually catch up to Adrian, he'd probably have a story to tell.

He hadn't expected the way forward to be through a very small graveyard, a back alley, and a pitch dark storage room. 

And after he cut through any ghasts that Adrian apparently hadn't cared to eliminate (not that he blamed him), past the broken aqueduct, through the sewers filled with humanoid yet insect-like horrors with too many damn legs, and through an abandoned, strange building filled with paintings and furniture, he found an empty, spacious cathedral, with plenty of bloodstains, new looking scuff marks, and broken pews to tell the story of what happened. And, of course, it also had a lonely bonfire crackling away. Whatever dangerous foe laid in wait had met its final death by the hands of Adrian, that much he was certain. With only one obvious way forward, he pressed on through a courtyard littered with dead giants and small, fragrant indigo flowers. He had seen them before, but couldn't quite recall where. 

At a certain point, he truly, really saw what the fog in the distance had hidden. Of all long-lost places to have suddenly converged at this point, he hadn't expected the equally fabled Anor Londo of the old gods to have appeared and moved through time and space to become an almost seamless part of Irithyl. Well, he could be reasonably certain he'd accurately identified the place; it had all the flying buttresses, pointed arches, and rib vaults that Irithyl sought so eagerly to replicate and expand on. Bodies of dead knights encased in brilliantly gleaming silver armor, framed and contrasted by the splattering of blood across the mirror-like surface, splayed out all over the precarious balcony leading to the front of the enormous cathedral of the old gods.

The jade colored doors, easily several men tall, hung open, revealing the dark, disheveled, dingy interior. Sludge and slime coated the floor in a sticky, pitch black mess that stuck to the boots and made the most disgusting squishing noises as boots trod through it. The sludge didn't so much as actually impede progress as disincentive it, and that didn't even touch how it stank of death. Occasionally, living slime dropped from above, or would crawl out from inert masses of… whatever organic material the slime consisted of. Hawkwood didn't want to think about it too much. More than likely, the sludge was actually the oh so slug or snail like trail of Aldrich, the holy man eater. Meaning… he walked on actual once-was-human flesh, once-was-human organs, once-was-human tissue. Shudder. Stop thinking about it.

The ever present moonlight just barely lit up the moody interior. Eventually, he found an enormous foyer that had a balcony just coated in the effluvial gunge. Marble groaned as the elevators ground and swirled up and down by an unseen mechanic. Various pillars that held up the balcony had been broken, though it didn't look like it would collapse on its own weight. The lit bonfire at the very end told him enough, but there were sizable gaps in his comprehension. Assuming he could catch up to Adrian, he'd have to ask if Aldrich had assaulted the place when it still had inhabitants. The eerie silence and complete lack of any sentient or formerly sentient beings intrigued him. 

When more exploration of what little remained of fabled Anor Londo proved fruitless, Hawkwood retraced his steps, cursing to himself all along the way, of course. Getting drenched in ice cold water the first time was bad enough. It didn't kill him, but the mix of wet leather with the cold air had him absolutely miserable. When he had waded half way across the body of water, for reasons he couldn't quite remember, he took the time to look behind him and spotted a large archway to a large cathedral he somehow hadn't noticed before to the right of the sewer entrance, despite the fact the entrance was the very first thing one saw coming down from the central part of Irithyl. But despite its holy appearance from the outside, inside was largely bare aside from the lit bonfire first thing in, lit torches lining the wall that didn't quite light everything up with that gyrating orange glow, and of course, Adrian's elegant signature of blood smudges and drained corpses.

Perhaps amusingly, two scrawny gray ghast bodies laid clutching large swords were strewn across the ground before descending stairs, with an opening to the left that would have been easy to miss. One of the bodies partially hung over the edge of the stairs. To the left, Hawkwood's eyes ran over the prone body of a Pontiff Knight. Adrian must have been ambushed by it, and likely gave it a livid, swift death. The wide stairs that led down in the build took him for a loop. Why on earth would anyone need stairs this wide? Of course, it led downwards right into the limp, dead body of a Fire Witch. That one probably also gave Adrian a nasty surprise, to which his response was, obviously, an even nastier death. Not but a stone's throw away, he looked through the tall yet slender arch opening to the frozen outside, his eyes leading down stone steps to a more foreboding building.   
Snow and rubble greeted him silently. Some of the stairs along the path led further down, into a crumbled path that had apparently fallen down into the nothingness below. What it went to, Hawkwood would never know. Perhaps that was a consequence of when people threw Aldrich into the First Flame to link it; after all, places to which mighty Undead managed to triumphantly offered themselves as kindling hailed from were always devastated by horrific changes after a new cycle began. Though, he had to say, the changes that happened to Irithyl of the Boreal Valley had mostly been subtle. Mostly. That, and they could just as easily be placed onto the shoulders of dread Pontiff Sulyvahn, who turned some of his own knights into mindless beasts. Who could say what he had done to the other citizens of the Boreal Valley?

The building he set foot into had much narrower corridors, and far less lighting (which was green. It had to be an eerie green, in order to have that proper creepy feel), making it feel far more oppressive. He noticed at some point the walls looked like they were sweating, and many of them had moss or some other indescribable gunk. After the few narrow passages, he finally came across a lit bonfire, and the reason for the change in ambiance: this place was a sodding dungeon. An actual dungeon, filled with prisoners of a sort. Some sort. And he stood in the walkway between six cells, three on each side. The place smelled even worse than it looked, filled with corpses so scrawny the flesh pulled gaunt over bone. Most of them were corpses, anyways. Small recesses in the wall contained small lit candles that had small green flames, as well as bars that served no function. Trudging past the cells, noting the very soft pattering of his leather boots across the stone floor, he came to a caged hallway within a much larger hallway with a line of cells on one side. From there, he could see a similar caged hallway across from him, and if he leaned over at the edge, he could look down and see at least one floor identical to the one he stood on. In the middle of this particular row (or column. Whatever), he could see a corridor to the other side.

And robed, masked bodies of what he assumed to be the jailers. They carried, or rather, had carried lanterns and what appeared to be a branding iron. He felt his eyebrows raise towards the ceiling in a movement that nearly jingled his chainmail helmet in how quickly and far they shot up. Now, one or two carrying it wouldn't have scandalized him so much, but as he found more and more of the bodies trying to find some way to progress after he walked to the other row of prison cells that were either locked or filled with bodies, it started to raise unpleasant questions. When he found his way down to the cell row a floor down, more of the admittedly puzzling story of the dungeon unfolded, with cages filled with cadavers like those from the Undead Settlement. But what were they doing here? 

The path forward led him to a group of cells that led outside… as outside as one could get underground. But the contents of the cells proved far more baffling as to what secrets the dungeon held: grotesque beings that looked once human given the face… but appeared to walk on four legs like a beast, with a small tail and small wings and milky white eyes. At least Adrian put them out of their misery. So he kept his pursuit on some inkling that there lie truth in the murmurs of men turning into an Everlasting Dragon. It seemed as good as any other solution to the Curse, given none of the cycles had actually truly cured the Curse, despite all the previous promises. The answer seemed so obvious, to find the final un-breaths of un-life before the Fire, before all the Lord Souls.

It looked less that the path to another part of the dungeon had been built outside and more that the dark smooth path that let to what was clearly another part of the building contrasted heavily with the uneven surface of the cave it resided in had the walls and ceiling crumble, leaving only the floor. On the horizon, he could see the ruins of what appeared to have one been an incredibly large building. It looked like it even fell into the cave, or had come apart by whatever forces caused places once distant to converge when the First Flame waned. Past it, he could see an opening the let in warm, golden light through a large crevice. On the side back on the path, against one of the few pillars that appeared to be similarly broken, a dead jailer slumped over a blood puddle. Towards the entrance to the next part of the dungeon, two more cluttered the floor, one carrying a crossbow and the other a cleaver of some sort, both sans a lantern. He carefully stepped over there, and trotted into a wide hallway of sorts, filled with busted barrels and more of the robed, masked Irithyl Dungeon jailers littered the ground with the occasional pile of visceral or puddle of blood that had recently thickened and curdled. Hawkwood wondered if he'd eventually stop finding corpses, or if Adrian would finally rest at a bonfire, resetting almost all in space and time. To be completely honest, he found it surprising the assassin still managed to gather strength to pull forward. Or, perhaps he had rested at some point, and the warping of time managed to miss his notice.

Either way, he should eventually run into Adrian, possibly quite literally, assuming there was eventually an end to the current path. It seemed impossible the man's steps ahead had only increased since setting foot in Irithyl. Or maybe he, himself, was finally going mad in his search for purpose. But he did not intentionally follow Adrian with the intent of finding him; rather, he followed the path because it was easy. That's the explanation he'd use, though he was certain he'd be assigned an assumed intent either way. Although, he'd certainly welcome seeing another non-hostile human being (Undead or not) at this rate. The dark, dank dungeon inspired terror that went beyond the merely physical, as places intended to keep the wicked are wont to do. Maybe he just wanted a reminder that he was still alive.

The path to progress led down a hole in the floor to an enormous opening in the cave system the Irithyl Dungeon made itself home in. He skirted along the edge of an almost natural looking path along a stone wall. Now, that looked intentional, or at least some of it did. Up above, he could see all manners of chains and ropes and person sized cages. Malodorous half-eaten corpses, stray bones, and unidentifiable blobs of flesh crowded the edge and some of the wall, and if he looked down, he could see a swarm of hound-sized rats eating away at an immense humanoid form that slumped over, sitting in a pool of its own blood, with its legs chained and its head in a large rusted iron mask that obscured its face. He'd have to ask questions if he ever found Adrian. He followed the path to the conclusion on the left, carefully stepping down a very wet metal ladder that he was surprised it hadn't been damaged.

He hadn't expected the path to lead right into a sewer area, with dingy running water and dead rats and everything. But in order to make more progress, Hawkwood had to slip past a broken part of the wall, into a tunnel to another part of the sewer, complete with two massive bodies of plague ridden rodents, easily taller than himself. Hawkwood splashed through the ankle deep water, shivering slightly at the sensation of the still but chilled air hitting the damp skin below his knees and underneath his pants and boots. The air wasn't bad just… incredibly still sometimes, though occasionally he could feel the slightest of air pressure changes from where there were unseen openings to get fresh air from the surface. He emerged into possibly the best lit place in the entire dungeon, which didn't really say much. The large, open area seemed to be another block of cells, except these were far larger than the small ones in the previous area. 

Various refuse cluttered the ground, in addition to the expected recently deceased. Like the other cells, he didn't bother to look inside, largely ignoring their contents, especially those that seemed to be good and closed. He did observe that they all seemed incredibly dark, and did note he occasionally heard some raspy, not-wholly-bestial sounding shrieking of pain. Gritting his teach and rushing past the area to get away from that horrific noise, he found an unexpected narrow corridor more towards where he initially came from, instead of heading to the opposite side of the cell block and out into the open caves. He emerged into an odd sight: a cliff side facing some sort of fortress in the starry distance with several sitting forms facing it, some dragon-like, some of them encased in heavy steel armor, with a tower elevator back up to… somewhere. Gingerly, he nudged them with the very tip of his boot, and found that the only response to be rearranging the bodies slightly.

Sighing and furrowing his brows, he rubbed the stubble on his chin, scraping against it with his fingertips a few times for good measure. He didn't know what it meant, beyond that there existed dragon-men, and that there was a place he'd never seen before far away from Irithyl, possibly the same place he'd seen in the distance while roaming around the city. He couldn't recall being able to see it from anywhere else, but he wasn't exactly looking for it then. While he went to check out the platform elevator that seemed to lead up, he briefly remembered hearing about a place called Archdragon Peak, complete with a monastery devoted to the worship of the Everlasting Dragons, but beyond its existence he had little about its location or appearance.

The chains and pulleys operating the lift when he stepped onto the activating pressure plate groaned as it slowly pulled him up. While he waited, he considered what he knew about the path of the dragon which admittedly… was pretty spotty. He knew such a thing existed, and that it connected with Archdragon Peak, but beyond that he was relatively lost. Related to this information, he knew of whispers that Oceiros, the once king of Lothric, had gone mad with his obsession with the dragons, specifically the profane knowledge of Seath the paledrake. Before he could ponder the connection, the platform stopped at the top, and he walked off back into the dungeon with the ubiquitous viridian glow, the clammy walls and floors, and swaying of shackles. Outside of the distant sounds, his footsteps felt abnormally loud and heavy in the dismal quiet. 

His sheathed Farron greatsword subtly swinging against his hips, he followed the hallway that went forty-five degrees to the right. After some stairs, he came up to a familiar-looking barred door, like that would be on a cell, or the entrance to a cell block to keep any potential escapees out, with a familiar looking scene behind it of green lit cells to the right with plenty of bodies on the floor. To his surprised, it actually opened. After taking a couple steps, he recognized it as the same corridor he went through earlier that led to a more exposed part of the dungeon. Huffing, he decided he'd just return to the bonfire at the start by following the stairs up to the second floor, and marching across to the other side. Winding back to the bonfire, he all but collapsed in front of it.

Hawkwood didn't feel up to wandering the rest of Irithyl Dungeon. After all, he doubted he'd find some magical, hidden away entrance to Archdragon Peak that laid past that one path down that he never tread. He made a soft noise in his throat at remembering of hearing tales about Pontiff Sulyvahn discovering the profane flame below Irithyl, the same profane flame that laid waste to the Profane Capitol that Yhorm the Giant called home. Perhaps that had been the ruins he glimpsed in the distance in that area where the ceiling had crumpled. But the Profane Capital held no relevance in his quest. The next best lead he had would lead him back to Lothric, so he might have as well just sit and consider his lack of meaningful life choices, if you could even call them that at this point. If he was going to go on any fool's errand, it would be his own. And, if it didn't matter in the end, at least he could say it gave him purpose.

After crouching before the burning bonfire for what felt like centuries, he slowly stood up, put his hand over the handle of the coiled sword and warped out with a flash of flames.

He noticed the sky hanging above the trees impaling Hollows that were common in Lothric first. Initially, it looked like night, but he noticed that he couldn't see the glow of the moon… but could definitely see the glow of an eclipsed sun. Meaning, while it was technically daylight, it looked as thought it were twilight, with the horizon a swirl of deep reds, oranges, and magentas with the rest of the sky dark. It was an interesting take of the permanent blue moonlight of Irithyl. Standing upon the tower on the ruined high wall, it didn't look like anything else had changed here. He could see the jittery yet determined movement of shuffling Hollows down below looking over the civil war scarred battlements, so he knew Adrian either wasn't here or hadn't been to this part yet. Either way, the other Unkindled would need to return to Lothric in order to reach Prince Lothric. But he had no plans to stick around long, just enough to find the Consumed King, as they called him.

He didn't really know where to even start looking, given the King had gone missing long ago. As he moved towards the set of descending stairs on the side, dead grass that had managed to find a place to grow up here, of all places, crunched under his feet, which soon changed to a solid thudding when he hit the stone. Hawkwhood slipped inside the dark recesses of the tower, noting the wooden floor that had a myriad of holes in it, not to mention intact and broken crates and barrels. The only lighting came from the archway he had stepped through, the open door catercorner from him, and the small openings in the side that were far too high to serve as actual windows to look out from. As his eyes adjusted, he could just make out the outline of a spindly cloaked standing figure on the far right, hidden among a variety of crates and barrels. Pretty sure he could also hear the clattering of a knight in heavy armor doing patrols. He wasn't quite stealthy like Adrian, so he'd have to either fight his way through or make a run for it.

The floorboards squeaked and groaned under his weight as he carefully began to make his way towards the stairs, keeping his back to the wall as he watched the silhouette of the Hollow thief. When it made no effort to move forward, he descended, though he still leaned against the wall to avoid any potential backstabbing or other sort of sneak attack that could occur. Eventually, he stepped onto the floor below, and noticed like above, the floor was riddled with holes and littered with wooden containers. To his right, light streamed in from an archway leading out. And, of course, there were two wandering Hollow thieves in rags, one of which mindlessly marched in his direction. Using its current disregard to his advantage, he carefully unsheathed his greatsword, making sure to do it slow as to not make too much noise, and quickly brought down an overhead swing onto it. It flattened onto the ground, and made a harsh keen as it stopped moving. 

The other Hollow began to storm towards him, chattering unintelligibly. As it neared him, it began to flail around, the dagger swinging about almost haphazardly as he managed to catch it in between the almost blindingly fast swings with the highly specialized parrying dagger that exemplified the fighting style of the Undead Legion. With as fast as it took to flick his left wrist to deflect the Hollow's dagger, he plunged his greatsword straight through its shallow chest and out of its boney back. Blood steadily dripped from the blow, though much less than a healthier Undead. He then kicked it off his blade, noting how its body sagged and had stopped its motions completely. It made a surprisingly solid and wet thunk as it hit the floor. When he was reasonably sure it wouldn't get back onto its feet, he plodded out the passage and out onto a balcony, with a short set of stairs leading up to a ladder between the battlements, with Hollows that looked like they were either rejoicing in prayer before a great fallen gray wyvern or mourning it. Possibly both.

While he silently contemplated that, a Hollow soldier in armor, shield, and a sword clambered up the ladder, and immediately noticing Hawkwood, set its target shield out in front of itself in a slightly hunched, defensive stance and slowly strafed towards him. Sighing and almost rolling his eyes, he stepped towards him with both his dagger in his left hand and the greatsword in his right prepped, almost not noticing the helm-less Hollow climbing over the battlements over the right side not far from where he stood. A grim glister of a mockery of a smile lit his face. Oh, that had been clever, all right. All the same, he kicked the Hollow in front of him, and then swiped horizontally at the one at his right with the greatsword. Both fell backwards, the wounded one emitting a haunting scream. While the other still had its guard broken, Hawkwood swung his sword, flinging the barely human creature hard against the battlement.

He looked over the ladder and grimaced. The ladder wasn't very tall, and at the bottom he'd be walking over blue shingled rooftop of one of the castle buildings. But on that rooftop were several Hollows, and while individual or even a pair of Hollows weren't that tough, a whole group of them could easily overpower him if he wasn't careful.

So instead of dealing with that, he just bolted across the rooftop on the right, completely ignoring them. When he could see a wood platform with a ladder on it, he heard an ear-piercing shriek, followed by the sound of liquid, or something almost liquid, then heavy plodding of feet and a rather reptile like growling. He only got the barest glimpse of a soft-looking, glistening, writhing dark mass with two burning red pinpricks in what looked to be a half-solid mouth as he slid down the ladder. When his feet touched the bottom, he turned, almost halting when he spotted what he initially thought was a singular Hollow on a wooden platform with railing gripping a crossbow. From where he stood at that moment, he couldn't see past the corner.

Killing that Hollow alerted three more, of which he managed to take out with a wide circling sweep that left him slightly dizzy but the Hollows very much inert. Peering down below, he saw a curved overhand with beheaded soldiers laying on the ground, a Hollow soldier sitting and carrying a lantern, and only the barest hint of an outline of another hanging from the rails. Dealing with them was simple enough; all it took was a quick few strikes of the greatsword to fell both of them. But it was the next area that gave him pause as he turned to face the open portcullis, staring at the scene before him. It led to a small courtyard. More beheaded suits of armor slumped over all over the place, with burning fires as well as weapons sticking out of the ground. In the middle of the unroofed area sat a fountain that no longer worked and no longer kept water.

And of course, there had to be a hulking behemoth of a knight with a blue cape (instead of red) clutching an enormous halberd stalking around the fountain. Their stomping and the clinking of their armor filled his ears. If not for the surrounding scenery of headless knights strewn all about and random fires, it would have probably been almost comical in absurdity. And behind that, he could see a heavily boarded up door, but to the right, there looked to be another open portcullis he could duck through. If he bolted for it while the knight turned their back, he could be in and out of that courtyard before they noticed him. As it marched around the fountain and turned their back to the right side of the courtyard, he ran, his heart in his ears as he entered a much larger courtyard with knights and soldiers patrolling the ends. 

Hawkwood thought he barely had time to take in his surroundings and rushed down the stairs to the left, only to stop short when he noticed a red caped Lothric knight holding a halberd in one hand and a great shield in the other passing a few arm's lengths from the bottom of the stairs. Under the dark sanguine sky, the autumnal foliage that ranged from bright pink copper to dusky yellow to umber brown appeared almost alight and stunning. Leaves from the bushes formed small piles on the ground that the knights crushed into dust. On the left end, his left end that is, he could see a large cathedral, with a singular round blue window that caught his eye. Its doors were wide open, and inside he could see a glowing bonfire amongst its shadowy interior. 

He waited for the halberd Lothric knight to pass, turn around, and make their way back to the front of the cathedral, faced with their back towards him. Another knight, this one with a sword and a medium shield, paced almost directly in front of the bottom of the stairs. Hawkwood took this as a signal, and leaped from his spot, his greatsword in hand, plunging it down between where the breastplate and leggings met. Of course, both the noise of the knight expiring and the sound of Hawkwood landing on the knight alerted the other one, which came running with their great shield up. With a wicked smile, he approached the knight with his dagger and greatsword out. While he doubted he could correctly time trying to correctly catch the halberd, if he walked up closer to the knight, it would at least prevent them from effectively using their weapon.

And the knight's response to the intrusion on their space was to try to bash him with the shield. His reflexes were quick enough to allow him to step around it and the knight, effectively ending their life as his greatsword took off its head with a well-aimed chop. Satisfied with his performance, he turned back towards the cathedral, wandering into the inky darkness with wariness. A single burgundy lined with gold rug ran through the middle down to the bonfire, with a ladder to an overhang behind it. Though the color of it made it a bit tricky, if he looked hard enough he could see a plethora of blood stains not only at the base of the ladder, but all around the room.

All of that had to be recent, remembering the way it looked before. He remembered the High Priestess, Emma, sitting in a chair where the ladder currently stood. What had Adrian done? Morbid curiosity wracked his mind as he climbed up the ladder, wondering if this was the way to the actual Lothric Castle and out of the High Wall. When he pulled himself to the overhang, dark and wooden he noticed, he took a moment to absorb his surroundings. He had three descending stairs to choose from. From this angle, all he could see of his options' destinations was the one in front of him; it led further in, to a brightly lit room with pews and an altar a knight knelt at. 

His burning thirst for some sort of connection to Archdragon Peak took over, and he chose the left path for no particular reason other than he felt like it. The path led down and outside, to a railed walkway with a building at the end to the right, guarded by a tall knight from the Cathedral of the Deep, of all places. The strangeness of the sight halted him for a split second. But then he marched on, aware that lingering too long could get the currently oblivious knight's attention… not like he wouldn't have it when they got bludgeoned by his greatsword. He just managed to get a hit in before the knight turned to notice him. The knight swung a large mace two-handed, which he managed to barely catch with his dagger. It strained his left arm, but it worked, and the riposte hit in the gap between the helmet and chest armor, spilling dark blood all over the silver of the breastplate. 

After the knight crumpled onto their knees and toppled over, he stepped forward and into the building, flexing his fingers around both his dagger and sword before the cage-like design of the elevator before him. As soon as the tip of his leather boots hit the center of the platform, it descended with the clinking and chiming of chains. It descended past a platform leading to a walkway, and down into possibly the most noxious pit he had ever encountered. Curling his lip in disgust and coughing, he ran through the gray-lavender slime, nearly colliding with a gigantic black blob that seemed to be using an incredibly gaunt Hollow as a host of some sort, then darting past it as it growled and sputtered lividly. 

The dead blackened trees, the gurgling leaches, the nearby Cathedral knight, the little overlooking platform that he could have wandered onto just to get a better glimpse of the area, all of these he ignored in his objection to get the fuck away from the staggering monstrosities that became alert to his existence. He noticed a set of bright stone stairs leading up to another area, and practically jumped up them, nearly tripping as he climbed to the top. Chest heaving and breathing hard, he stopped in the middle of the platform, eying the path ahead of him, with one Cathedral knight straight ahead and another to his left. Hawkwood looked at his feet, and just barely made out a symmetrical, flower-like design etching in the stone. Given he could no longer hear the sounds of pursuit, he stood there with both his blades shaking gently in his hands as he slowly regained his breath.

“Hawkwood?”

The voice, that familiar silky voice, nearly made him bite his tongue and choke.

He pivoted on his heels, and nearly turned green and dropped his greatsword at the sight of Adrian in almost full Undead Legion armor, except for that stupid fucking hat. His lips were pursed, his eyes red-rimmed and with hollow purple bags underneath, and his cheeks appeared to be thoroughly smudged with ash and dried blood. His eyes danced across Hawkwood's form, as if assessing him. Both eyebrows furrowed together, then they relaxed, and his lips quirked into a small, weary smile. He smelled of blood and smoke and longing.

“You really have no idea how pleased I am to see you,” he said softly, an acute sadness in his voice, the edges of his eyes crinkling. They sparkled brightly in the strange lighting of the eclipse. Hawkwood could see the gleaming of his teeth as his lips parted into a slightly too large grin, as though he had forgotten how to smile. Or he had completely lost his senses. Given who it was, both were just as probable, Hawkwood mused. Adrian launched himself forward and took Hawkwood into an almost painful tight embrace, trembling briefly before pulling himself off. The deserter barely had time to even process the gesture, his hands still clutching at his weapons. He might have twitched a little at the unexpected hug, especially given that he thought Adrian had gone… feral for a moment given the sudden movement.

Sheepishly smiling at the other man, Adrian blurted out, “I'm sorry, it's just… it's nice seeing someone alive who isn't… you know.” He tittered, then scratched the back of his neck. Hawkwood finally managed to say, a little more irritated than he intended, “I'll have you know that you should have warned me. Bloody hell, have you taken a look at yourself? For a moment I thought you were going to gnaw my face off.” The assassin flinched so dramatically that Hawkwood felt guilty. Guess the man just hadn't had the time to rest, hence looking a bit rough. Sighing, he sheathed his weapons, and lightly patted one of his shoulders.

“So, what brings you here?” he asked Adrian, tilting his head. The man before him shifted his weight slightly, and he replied simply, “Answers. To everything about why Lothric doesn't make any sense.” That had a small corner of Hawkwood's mouth curl up in the slightest of smiles. “That makes two of us,” he muttered, turning to face the way ahead, his eyes darting between the two Cathedral knights before he went back to looking at the Vinheim assassin, “Care to join me then, Adrian?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed with a brief laugh and another grin, though that one wasn't as toothy and wide. His eyes positively twinkled, and he managed to look more alive -and more handsome- than he did a few moments ago.

“After this though, I'm taking a goddamn bath and sleeping for a day or two. I fought Yhorm the Giant and the Dancer of the Boreal Valley back to back. Now, that was fucking obnoxious. Suppose my legs and arms got a decent work out at least. I haven't danced like that in ages. Vinheim sorcerers aren't very big on dancing, you see, so I've been out of practice.”

Hawkwood snorted vociferously, and shook his head as he failed spectacularly to hide an amused grin.


	8. Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoohoo Oceiros fight, whoohoo unresolved sexual tension!

Hawkwood watched as Adrian sheathed his right blade before he brought up his gloved fist and extended his index finger in front of his lips, pointing at the Cathedral Knight towards the left and then gesturing to the catalyst sitting on his left hip. The eerie red glow of the eclipse made the elegant etching towards the hilt of his blades scintillate as he then sheathed his left and brought out his staff. He waved it over his head, then scuttled off the platform onto the left ledge, his movement completely muted as he wedged his blades between gaps in the armor and sank them into the knight's flesh as far as he could, blood pooling at his feet and staining the knight's blue cape. At that, Hawkwood trailed Adrian as the Cathedral Knight struggled to get to their feet, readying his own blade.

Not that he really needed to, he thought as the other man erupted into a rapidly twisting mass of slinging blades, wildly flicking delicate wrists, and a fluttering cape, running his blades through the Cathedral Knight like a frenzied madman. In that moment, except for the hat, he looked every bit a Watcher of the Abyss, all swift, unrelenting piss and vinegar. While Adrian did that, Hawkwood carefully flanked the knight and swung his blade horizontally across the wounded area as they raised their own greatsword to crash onto the assassin. But instead of raining down a frightful blow, they staggered onto their knees, and the other man leaped backwards as the knight toppled forward with a metallic, heavy thump. “Tough sons of bitches,” Adrian gasped out in between ragged breaths as he held onto his knees, twinblades parallel to the ground, “Even though I wasn't hitting armor instead of, you know, flesh, it still took seven or so good swipes. Wonder why they're even here.” 

Gripping the hilt of his sword tighter, Hawkwood used his head to abruptly gesture to the Cathedral Knight standing before the building looming over them. It was a surprise that the sound of combat hadn't alerted them yet. As soon as their boots padded through the water at the base of the stairs, they could hear the jangling pounding footsteps of the knight leaving their station to see the source of the noise. Though his chest still heaved and breath came out harsh, Adrian darted towards the knight faster than Hawkwood could even register; he seemed to disappear entirely only to rematerialize right before the knight, side stepping before the knight tried to cleave him in half. While the knight hefted the greatsword up with both of their arms, he gnashed his teeth, growling lowly as he snapped the twinblades across those arms. 

Though the result was largely a resounding clink of metal, obviously it hit some skin because a small, but noticeably enough amount of blood leaked from the bright silver gauntlets already gleaming reddish from the eclipse. They finally swung it in a deceptively slow arc, slow enough that Adrian dodged too soon, and had the tip of the blade split across his nose, lips, and chin. Ribbons of red blood dripped from his wounds down his neck and into the collar of his leather cuirass. His face contorted briefly in pain before his nostrils flared, his nose scrunched up, and his lips twitched into a crimson snarl. His eyes flashed pure malice as he swung repeatedly in a pirouette, the blade hissing through the air and clanking against metal and ripping through skin and muscle. Meanwhile, Hawkwood splashed to his side and stepped in front as the other man ended his attack.

The knight began to shuffle slightly backwards, assessing the situation, their greatsword hoisted over their shoulder to await their next move. Hawkwood feinted with his own blade, and the knight lunged forward with a kick that would have been excruciating, had it actually connected with the deserter's body. Instead, he used that failure to sneak in a blow with his own sword that connected, all the while Adrian circled around the knight's back and plunged the sword into the slightest of armor gaps. The assassin nodded, still bleeding from his facial wounds, as the knight sagged on their feet, and Hawkwood strafed to the side as the other man kicked the knight over. Hawkwood looked up from the corpse of the knight and looked on as Adrian sheathed his weapons and brought his left hand, still surrounded in cold metal, to his wounds.  
“Do you need any estus?” Hawkwood asked him, bringing out his own glowing orange flask and holding it out. He looked into the other man's eyes as his features softened just a fraction. The assassin shook his head, licking the blood off his lips. After digging through his own belongings and bringing out his own flask, albeit clearly less full, he replied, “I still have uses from my own. Thanks, though.” A faint smile crept upon his slashed lip as he brought it up to them and sipped. Admittedly, Hawkwood's eyes lingered as the inner edges of the man's lips glowed orange before his tongue swirled over them, savoring the last bit of the warming liquid. He closed the flask with a pop, and placed it back. 

His eyes caught Hawkwoods, but he remained silent and stood completely straight for a moment. His eyebrows creased towards the bridge of his nose and he canted his head subtly. When Hawkwood began to move towards the stairs that the Cathedral Knight had once guarded, he reached out and squeezed one of his arms, stopping the other man. “Don't move. Listen closely,” he hissed, pointing towards the building. Hawkwood raised an eyebrow, but followed the other man's instructions, standing still and listening. If he listened carefully, he could hear the tail end of strange, vibrating cooing noises which definitely came from within the building. He then turned his head towards Adrian, who had pivoted on his boots and began slowly marching up the stairs, his expression bemused.

Hawkwood followed with much the same caution and restraint, his hold on his parrying dagger and greatsword tight. Adrian momentarily stopped in order for the other man to catch up, and then began trotting beside him down the stairs, the noise from the building become louder and louder as they descended. At the foot of the stairs, looking forward he could see a large, hunched over, murky blue shape. At that distance, trying to make sense of the form before him didn't work. Shoulder to shoulder, they trudged into the building. It definitely had an extremely high ceiling, with was partly crumbled and streaming alarming red light through the holes. The floor, like the rest of the building, appeared to be stone… at first. At the sides of the entrance were headstones resting against the walls, and the floor looked to be made entirely out of them. Like the ceiling, though, the floor wasn't in very good shape, and seemed to be missing in places, some areas even piled up with the headstones. And then there was the fact that there was ankle deep water the further one walked in.

That information all ignored whatever it was that knelt before them on two feet with its back to them, of course.

Both of them barely dropped their feet into the water and strode closer when the figure slowly unfurled, its gaunt form beginning to make sense. It stretched out a pair of small, feathered wings, a long, whiplike tail, and gangly arms that appeared to be cradling something. Its back was covered in tuberous growths From the angle they stood at, Hawkwood could make out a long neck, and a horned, fanged reptilian muzzle and head that lacked eyes, the eye sockets bare except for shining smooth pale skin. 

The cooing abruptly stopped, and the creature sighed loudly. A deep voice rumbled from the monstrosity. A human voice, no less.

“Ahh, you ignorant slaves. Finally taken notice have you?”

The creature held its cradled hands in front of its face. 

“Of the power of my beloved Ocelotte, child of dragons.”

It brought its hands to its near skeletal chest, and turned to look at both the intruders in an eyeless glare.

“Well, I will not give him up. For he is all that I have.”

A hand dropped from the invisible object it appeared to be carrying, and reached for a staff made of twisted pallid wood. It hissed balefully at the men, pounding the ground with the end of the staff, its other hand still close to his ribcage. Its tail flickered behind it in irritation. 

He, rather, Hawkwood thought, He must be Consumed King Oceiros. Who else would be hiding in the King's Garden? Who else would have aspired to becoming a paledrake, following in the footsteps of mad Seath? And he succeeded. Man becoming dragon was obtainable.

As Hawkwood rushed forward, his weapons in tow, Adrian used his magic to augment his twinblades, making them emit a deep blue glow. He could the light of the spell reflecting in the water as well as hear the gentle hum. It was a faint noise, but he could still hear it over the slow, careful stomping of Oceiros, at least until he was well ahead of the other man. The dragon swiped horizontally at Hawkwood with his staff, which was easy enough for Hawkwood to duck under, but he hadn't anticipated the next swipe, and thus he was knocked off his feet. Adrian rushed forward, stridently splashing water as he twirled his blades at the dragon's legs. As that happened, Hawkwood pushed himself out of the water, still clutching his weapons, and began to approach Oceiros from the side given his attention appeared to currently be focused on the man standing right in front him of.

He swore he could hear the shrill crying of a baby, but he could see no such thing.

Adrian rolled under both of the sweeps the dragon did with the staff, which in turn drenched his armor, hat, and hair, but he paid no mind. As soon as he was back on his feet and the assailing from the dragon ceased, he started a series of quick slashes with his twinblades. The wounds coated the dragon's smooth, scaleless hide with blood. After being hit a couple of times, Oceiros hopped backwards, oblivious as Hawkwood readied a strong sweep with his greatsword. It connected with the meat of the tail, causing it to spasm at the tip. Both of them noticed the dragon leaping up, and backed up right before Oceiros collided with the ground, upending headstones and sending other debris flying.

“Ahh, dear little Ocelotte. Where have you gone? Are you hiding from me? Come out, come out, don't be afraid,” the dragon purred, tapping his staff on the ground. Gaseous mercury up from the floor while the two men recovered, trapping them briefly in the cloud. Both of them bolted out of the area of the spell and away from the dragon, eying him warily. Concurrently, Oceiros spoke in a soothing voice, obviously not direct at the men, “Come out, come out, don't be afraid. You were born a child of dragons, what could you possibly fear? Now, now, show yourself Ocelotte. My dear, little Ocelotte.”

Adrian returned to swinging at the legs of the dragon, so close to the king that blood had splattered his face in addition to the rivulets of water that occasionally dripped down from his hairline. The other man took the side of Oceiros and swung there, much slower than the assassin but with far more strength behind each attack. Every time the former king turned his attention to Hawkwood chiseling at his side with the Farron greatsword, Adrian would start a graceful barrage of blue-enveloped steel. He ducked under swipes with the staff, rolled through tail sweeps, ran out from beneath the dragon's attempts and jumping and squashing him, and darted out of painful silver clouds of magic. He was quick on his feet, dancing deadly as he circled Oceiros to a song of slinging metal, splashing water, and the heavy plodding of dragon feet.

In many ways, Hawkwood served as an accessory to Adrian, who clearly had little need of his help but appreciated it no less, occasionally giving him fleeting glances. His exceptionally bellicose combat style served him well, and his skill at anticipating the dragon's attacks kept him from being slapped senseless and flayed by raking talons. They didn't need to communicate verbally, not like they could do so successfully with such an intelligent foe. Their way of communicating to each other in the fight took the form of backing off of Oceiros and other such changing of position. Time seemed to disappear all together. At some point, Hawkwood had surged into the air and brought the greatsword down on the dragon's tail.

Oceiros growled in frustration, dropped his staff, and held out the other hand to help clutch the invisible thing in his arms. Both men continued to attack, but he failed to respond as though the dragon had gone into a trance. He began to pound the floor, screaming “Ocelotte!” He turned, dropped to all four spidery limbs, and screeched at Adrian before opening his mouth wide and attempting to bite clean through him. He managed to duck and back step to the left, also avoiding a rampaging lunge and pounce of the dragon. Both men followed swiftly, taking up their places with Adrian at the front and Hawkwood towards the sides.

Oceiros had paused to jump and face Adrian, which gave the other man enough time to get in a swing before the dragon took to the air on his deceptively fragile looking wings and belched white gas. Adrian rolled to the side as the white breath hit the floor, causing beautiful iridescent crystals to shoot out. The crystals soon broke, the sound gently resonating as Oceiros bellowed noises fitting that more of a dragon than a man. Both men took another literal stab at the beast, noticing they were getting shorter windows to breathe and counterattack. Still, the dragon focused mostly on Adrian, though occasionally launching himself at Hawkwood and succeeding once, prompting the man to sip estus as Adrian attempted to regain the foe's focus.

After Adrian slapped the blades against the dragon's bulged stomach, Oceiros pivoted on his feet with amazing speed and whipped his tail at the man, hissing bestially in a malevolent, strident tone. If there had been any man left in the former king, he had flown the coop at the breakdown, though he clearly had some reasoning capacity still in there. Honestly, it was a bit like fighting an enormous Hollow. With wings and a tail. And crystal breath that he had no clue what it actually did, other than probably cause some sort of harm. The comparison was especially apt with Oceiros's propensity towards incredibly forceful, rapid flailing. While he thought about this, he landed a carefully timed blow to Oceiros's left flank as Adrian slashed at the dragon's round stomach.

Within less than a blink of an eye, the dragon clamp his jaw down hard on his right shoulder, piercing through the leather wrappings and the leather vest, though not through the chainmail behind the leather vest. Where the fangs broke the wrappings, blood flowed and steadily soaked the material. Adrian screamed in agony, almost dropping his right twinblade as his eyelids clenched closed reflexively. The cry alerted Hawkwood, who could only get an arcing swipe at the dragon before it leaped and tossed the other man clear across the room into a pile of rubble with the end of his elongated snout. A groan echoed through the large room. From that distance, Adrian looked so small, crumpled up on his back with the sense and wind knocked out of him.

Hawkwood chased after Adrian and the dragon, whistling sharply to gain Oceiros's attention as he bared down over the other man, his teeth oh so close to his exposed jugular. The dragon jerked his head around and wailed as the man charged forward with his eyebrows furrowed and his teeth gritted together as his lips parted in a snarl. As Oceiros turned his entire body to face him, Hawkwood whacked at the dragon's head, stunning him. He continued to beat on the creature's head, watching from the corner of his eye Adrian shakily rise to his feet sans hat, sheathing his right twinblade to wrench his estus flask out and take a fast gulp; the dull green flask no longer glowed orange and the assassin put it up. Clasping both weapons, he swung at the dragon's tail before Oceiros shook himself out of his daze. The dragon immediately tried to rend Hawkwood into bite sized pieces, and howled at his failure as the man juked him.

Both men attacked Oceiros at the same time, and found themselves startled as the dragon finally collapsed onto his stomach, spattering water everywhere. In his death throes, he groaned, “Ignorant slaves, how quickly you forget.” His body went totally limp. Adrian then kicked the corpse and gave it a good whack with his twinblades before looking up at Hawkwood and giving him that askew grin. Both men were drenched with water. Hawkwood, in particular, winced as he realized how many different places he chafed now. He watched as Adrian sat back down on the pile of partially destroyed headstone he had been hurled against. The other man snatched up his hat, smoothed it out, and put it atop his now very messy mass of dark hair that waved tighter with the introduction of humidity and water. Despite the damage he had suffered, he actually looked slightly better than he did before the fight, though that could have been because the grime on his face had been washed off incidentally.

The man craned his head to look down at the puncture marks on his right arms. Though it no longer bled due to the magic of the estus flask, his skin and leathers were still damp with blood. Tentatively, he rubbed thickening blood off from one of the rips in his armor with his iron gauntlet and brought the tacky red liquid up to his lips. With an eyebrow arched as high as it could possibly go on his forehead, Hawkwood watched the man first gingerly lick the steel clad fingers before closing his eyes and sucking them, eyes closed. And he swore he heard Adrian groan, albeit in a low, near imperceptible rumble. He continued to stare at the man, whose eyes then focused on Hawkwood. Hawkwood felt his entire face heat up.

Without so much as pausing and without any indication that he had just done anything out of the ordinary, Adrian said softly with a demure smile, “I suppose it was my good luck that I still had one use of my flask and that you were there to catch his attention. I didn't expect that dragon to hit like a goddamn herd of stampeding horses, looking so feeble. Thank you.” Sheathing his weapons and putting an arm on his knees, he shoved himself onto his feet and ambled over to Hawkwood. “You're welcome, though I should be thanking you given that was mostly your work,” he muttered in reply, looking into Adrian's twinkling eyes. They seem particularly fixated on his face as he leaned forward, which was almost unnoticeable, and he opened his mouth only to hesitate and firmly shut it. 

Pressing his lips together, he faced towards the doors at the end of the large room. He gawked for a moment, then turned his entire body. Hawkwood turned towards the door as well, and noticed the newly appeared bonfire in front of it. “Well, as much as I'd like to continue my adventure with you, I must be going, as I need rest. I'll be headed back to Firelink. I… hope to see once more,” he said with a frown, holding eye contact with the other man as his brow contorted with unadulterated sorrow. Adrian gave him another tiny smile, that one heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. Backing away towards the bonfire, he extended his right arm to the side, his forearm faced up, and squeezed his hand into a fist. 

After exhaling deeply, he then added, “I can join you again after some time, if you know where you're going and you're willing to tell me. Please.” His fingers flexed by his side anxiously. But Hawkwood shook his head. “No,” he replied gravely, “No, I must do this alone. This is my task alone.” Adrian closed his eyes, and gave him a curt nod. Now balling his fists, he opened up his eyes stated, “I understand. Goodbye then, and good luck.” He gave one of his dignified bows, before walking to the bonfire and disappearing, not before regarding Hawkwood once more with eyes that gave him all the pained appearance of someone shoved down multiple flights of stairs, then kicked forcefully in both kidneys and stabbed right between some ribs by someone they trusted. Hawkwood's eyes lingered where Adrian once stood as the pining that he saw in those blazed a tense coil in his stomach and sent a creeping chill down his spine.

Once those sensations vanished, Hawkwood marched forward with a hardened resolve. Past the bonfire, he shoved the wooden doors open, creaking on their hinges until they came to rest parallel to one another. With the doors now open, he could see the body of something humanoid in what looked to be not much more than rags prone on the floor of a narrow corridor that look much more together than the previous room. On closer inspection, while it clearly stood on two legs like men, but had claws and talons… not to mention the snake-like head. As he wandered further down the corridor, he came across more bodies of similar serpent-men crumpled on the floor. Eventually, however, he came across a life one that darted at him, waving around a dagger, and it startled him enough that it tore through his leather chest and bruised the skin beneath the protective chainmail.

He ended the life of the serpent-man just as swiftly as it had attacked him, seizing the creature's weapon with his parrying dagger and plunging the greatsword through its body, followed by an overhead swing that resulting in the creature shuddering and screaming as it died. Ahead of him, he could see the passage open up into a somewhat large room that had a chest at surrounded by light candles on elliptical shelves and a basin at the center, with a fully armored knight in dark plate sitting in a meditative position in front of it. The knight faced him and made no attempts to move. He recognized the position as one that the bodies at that place outside Irithyl Dungeon had poorly attempted to copy. Gingerly, Hawkwood approached the knight, and after seeing that the person was clearly dead, relaxed. Given that the room was a dead end, he sheathed his weapons.

At closer inspection, he recognized the set of armor from that of the Drakeblood Knights who held the blood of dragons as sacred and worshiped it so. These knights, as well as others that would seek to worship dragons, would supposedly see Archdragon Peak in their meditations. He knew what to do: he would return to that place accessible from the Irithyl Dungeon and meditate there. Hawkwood felt satisfied, and returned to the bonfire in contemplation. Instead of immediately using it to teleport to the dungeons, he instead sat before it, staring deep into the glowing, flickering orange and yellow depths. Sitting there, he felt regret for rejecting Adrian's companionship on his own journey. The man clearly had taken it personally despite his claims of comprehension behind his task, and he couldn't deny the unsettling feeling of guilt souring his stomach and making him feel on edge.

He picked up a small piece of debris and hurled it towards the water, watching it skip a few times before sinking almost soundlessly into the water. Abandoning his quest and seeking Adrian was certainly tempting… but the path of the dragon was so important to him, because of Adrian no less. The same man he sent along was the same man who had unknowingly caused him to stop avoiding his fate, the reason why he no longer sulked at Firelink Shrine because nothing he could do would change anything. Even if the other man's actions just delayed some horrible inevitable tragedy, he willing embraced it. Hawkwood laughed darkly to himself. Both of them had affinity for each other, an amorous one at that, but neither of them had approached one another or spoken about it, even though the resulting tension hung in the air oppressively. But… at least that saved him feeling more guilt for going off alone. 

Now that he felt not only thoroughly dry but quite warm, he stood up as his mind still grappled over what in the Abyss he was going to do about his feelings for Adrian, even if they hadn't quite bloomed too much past lust tacked onto a loose friendship. And he was, admittedly, a terribly prickly friend. It clearly hadn't deterred the other man from attempting some sort of rapport. That one night aside (which he still felt uncomfortable and guilty about), he hadn't expressed any annoyance with him, even with all the biting sarcasm, et cetera. Closing his eyes, he held his hand out in front of the bonfire, vanishing in a swirl of smoke.

The route back to that spot outside that dungeon was only made slightly less irritating by the short cut he had opened so fortuitously last time he stepped foot in the dank, dim place. Cutting down the jailers would be so much simpler and less frantic than dealing with their strange magic that felt like it strangled his heart in his ribcage, causing him to clutch his chest, and made it beat much faster than it should. Once he dealt with the first three jailers, he gave up the pretense about actually caring about slaughtering them all, and instead darted down the stairs to the opened cell door, ignoring the malefic gazes as he skidded to the right and followed the all passage down to the elevator. When he turned to face the hallway as chains whined as they wound him down to the bottom, there was nothing, the jailers long since given up pursuit. Then, he sheathed his weapons, not minding the small amount of blood sprayed across the tip of his greatsword.

The ledge still basked under a maddeningly abyssal blue moon-lit sky, with the rumpled corpses rigid as a brisk, howling wind flared gooseflesh across what little exposed skin Hawkwood had. Chill brought on by the night and wind cooled the chainmail helm and his metal gauntlet uncomfortably. Looking again at the suggestion of the Archdragon Peak in the distance, he warily sat down in a large opening between the body of a knight and what appeared to just be a crumbled statue and faced the buildings in the distance. He folded his legs up, his right leg in front of the left, rested his elbows on his thighs, and closed his eyes. He deepened and slowed his breathing, and just focused on getting to Archdragon Peak. Eventually, his head slumped deep in meditation, and he swore he heard the shrill keening of a dragon before he opened his eyes to be blinded by surreal brightness.


	9. Right in Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only one can complete the journey to the road of the ancient dragons.

A scarcely contained grin bordering on crazed lit up Hawkwood's ordinarily grim expression as he looked up into the deep blue, near cloudless midday sky of Archdragon Peak, in rapturous awe that it actually existed and he actually stood on it. Gnarled, dead trees jutted from the rocky ground haphazardly everywhere his eyes laid upon, including out of the sides of the cliffs before him, and dead grass lined the rugged path straight ahead, as well as occasionally popping out between the seams of stone. To his left side, he spotted a corpse (or a very Hollowed out Undead) slumped over against a long dead tree. Sheer cliffs blocked his view of the monastery, but he knew it stood somewhere past the cliffs. The occasional howl of wind groaned through the ravine made by the cliffs that he found himself in. After his mind and eyes processed the plethora of information ahead of him, he began to warily pad forward. He hadn't known what to expect, and felt it was much better to approach with caution and be ready to swing at a moment's notice than to be caught off guard.

Eventually, his eyes crossed over a fork in the path, though now he could finally see a part of the ruined monastery. Just looking at it, he could tells its glory days had long since past; it looked every bit as decayed and begging for death as much of the rest of the world with burgundy rags of banners hanging limply from the half-ruined side. But, the sky clearly lacked the same dying crimson light of the eclipsed sun with an ardent corona that resembled the Dark Sign. He didn't know how to explain it, save perhaps he was deep in an incredibly vivid dream. Supposing it really didn't matter, he glanced ahead at his options. Both paths curved around, so it was fairly difficult to tell where they led, and if it was to the same place.

Out of his thoughts he found himself violently thrown out of as a serpent-man charged towards him with continuous rasping hisses. Hawkwood darted to the side as it weaved its dagger left and right and tumbled past him. With its back turned, he thrust his Farron greatsword through the rags it worse into its chest, and given it almost immediately flopped backwards against the force. He kicked it off his blade gingerly, then stabbed at its slim neck for good measure, cringing against the sickening sound of snapping tendons and ligaments. Satisfied with his kill, he ambled down the curving path on the left, noting he could choose to climb up an overhang but neglected to do so. 

The path, of course, led to the side of the very base of the razed building, and appeared that the path connected with the other half on the right side. Straight ahead, he could see three patrolling serpent-men, and to the left he could see a lone area hanging over the cliff brilliantly lit. He squinted his eyes, and managed to just make out the faint shape of a bonfire. If he was careful, he could make it over there without garnering the attention of those vicious half-man, half-serpent creatures, especially all three at once. Waiting for patrols to intersect and then face away from him all at once, he made a break for it, careful not to upend any of the strange rock pile formations or trip over his own legs in blind panic. Panting but still dashing, he skidded over to the bonfire without incident, quickly lighting it while still watching the reptilian sentinels stalk.

Naturally, his eyes caressed the outline of stairs up to a large arch that clearly opened up to something else, though it was hard to tell from the angle he stood at. Atop the arch were ruined battlements. Hawkwood had no doubt on the other side, there were stairs leading up that would allow soldiers to snipe off invaders. Climbing the stairs and peaking around the sides, he could see a set of stairs to the right, as well as an open portcullis that led to more stairs. He stepped through, and craned his head up. Somehow, his approach had failed to alert an incredibly lanky serpent-man wielding a proportionally large war ax, as well as a much shorter one that was too hunkered over to tell what equipment it had.

Instead of fighting them, or waiting for them to notice him, he simple ran through the portcullis, out into an incredibly large area that was open to the sky. On both sides of the wide stone path that led to a blue bell at the crest of a number of stairs there were statues of what looked to be some sort of important humanoid figure holding out what looked to be a large sword with an unusually long hilt… or a spear with an unusually long head. Maybe it was a hybrid. At either side of the bell there appeared to be more paths. Either way, he heard a large bell toll in the distance with long pauses in between each stroke. As he stepped further out into the open, a large ivory wyvern roared, sweeping down on its enormous wings and landing right in front of Hawkwood. It towered over him completely, blocking much of his view around the exquisitely majestic and terrifying descendant of the Everlasting Dragons. 

As it reared back to suck in large amounts of air he assumed necessary in order to breath fire, he fled up the stairs, first running to the right path, but abruptly stopping when he realized it was a dead end. The only way to go from there was to suddenly be able to scale the walls with his heavy greatsword slung against his hip or to leap off into oblivion. Pivoting on the heel of his feet, he charged in the opposite direction while the wyvern stomped, still trying to turn its long body in an area that was fairly enclosed for its size, towards the domed buildings on the left. He didn't plan on getting roasted alive by a wyvern, not here, not now. 

He cut his way through a few more serpent-men, noting that they were tough bastards and usually took three or four solid hits before they finally croaked. In the first domed building along the path, he noticed the floor had the same strange pattern he had seen back in the Consumed King's Garden. Hawkwood had very little time to ponder this new bit of information as he dashed through, trying to avoid both the blazing breath of the wyvern and the waving blades of the serpent-men that called this place home. The path to the next building was fairly unsubstantial, but had pillars lining the path on both sides, with a fallen, ruined pillar in the rubble on the sides. 

That next building was far large, though the top of the dome had long since been destroyed and exposed the interior of the building wth air and bright light. To the right, there were stone stairs that he soon dashed up. They came out into the open to another set of stairs, these ones curved along the side and very much looking like they weren't originally intended to be “outside.” At least the view of the mountain range was beautiful, not that he could really stop lest he die either from fiery breath or cold steel. The stairs came to a choice between an arched open entrance or a path to the left. 

Behind him, he could still hear the wyvern screeching out of irritation, and the occasional hissing and stomping of serpent-men. On a whim, he chose to go down the right path that followed to another large, beige building, which of course was being guarded by an entire squadron of the fucking reptilian pests. Killing one was work enough, but dealing with three swinging madly at him, including an incredibly large one that had a chain axe, was terrible. It meant that near-constant dodging of attacks and paying loads of attention to his footing. Every once in a while, he could get in a hit, and worked on dealing with the largest of the cursed beings first given that weapon looked painful.

After the largest of the three collapsed over the side of the path with the seventh hard blow of the greatsword, dealing with the remaining two became far easier. While they were faster than the one that tumbled over the edge in its death throes, Hawkwood was swift on his feet and steadfast. After parrying one and riposting it over the edge, he unleashed a series of twisting slashes with the greatsword, snarling at the serpent-man as it staggered. Its blood flung on the ground, soiling the dull stone of the sacred place bright red. With that victory, he looked up and saw an iron door. Without so much as pausing and looking back at the wyvern that was still trying its damnedest to kill him, he swung the doors open only to promptly shut them after he barreled into the building.  
Several lit candles, various plates and vases, and the forms of still praying dragonkin lined the floor of the otherwise dark interior. Up above, he could see a variety of hanging incense burners that made the room smell heavily of sandalwood and agar. Up ahead, he could see an archway that brought in amazingly little light into the interior. On either side to the right, there were two sets of stairs with red rugs laid out on them, with an altar to a statue of a black dragon between them. Resting the end of his Farron greatsword against his right shoulder, he cautiously approached the opposite end of the room, leaned out to look at the surroundings, and was pleasantly surprised to see it was just a walkway with an unlit bonfire to the right. He lit it while squinting his eyes from the startling brightness, listening to its gentle humming and cracking before twirling around and wandered back inside.

Hawkwood waited for his eyes to re-adjust to the dark before settling down in front of the altar on the first floor and praying before it. When he stood up after his meditations, he noticed a small ring with a stone carved in the shape of a dragon eye set into it. Snatching it up, reaching over his shoulder, and sliding it into his rucksack, he started up the stairs before noticing the large serpent-man in what looked to be some sort of heavy regalia, complete with a creepy mask with six eye holes, staring at him curiously, clutching at its staff that had a small bowl attached to the end closet to the ceiling. It had a hood, much like a cobra. Hawkwood kept his eye on it as he slowly slunk to the nearest path forward; out of its sight, he turned and walked down into an area with a closed portcullis to an enormous open area with a multitude of dragons with a spear wedged in between the holes of the gate, as well as a set of stairs down on the right.

He chose to head further down.

At the base of the stairs laid a breezeway of sorts, with alcoves on the left, arches overhead, and open sky to the right. Hawkwood could see patrolling serpent-men roaming the area, the closet once with a greatshield and a hatchet. Further ahead, on the right he could see a wooden platform that a large axe-weilding serpent-men stomped across, as well as another building straight ahead. With his dagger and greatsworm clutched tight, he crept forward past the first alcove, observing the methodical back and forth movement of the sentinel in front of him. Seeing it begin to turn around, he ducked into the second alcove until he heard its tiny footsteps fade away. 

How he hadn't seen the serpent-men lurking in the third, he didn't know, but as soon as he passed it, he sprung its ambush; had he not been wearing armor with chainmail beneath, it would have stabbed him in the ribs. Instead, it merely bludgeoned him there, and he yelped as soon as it landed. But next set of swings and lunges he caught with his dagger, knocked it away, and rammed his sword into its ribs in return. After it hit the floor and shrieked, he lopped off its head. Naturally, the commotion attracted the attention of the pacing serpent-men. Instead of trying to goad it into letting its guard down to attack, he kicked the shield, stunning the creature. While it was dazed, he dug the tip of his blade into the creature's belly. Shoving it off, he slammed it down vertically upon the creature's head, grimacing as it met with a gruesome wet crack.

After pulling it from the skull of the corpse, he hefted it over the shoulder and entered the building ahead, to be rushed by two dagger slinging serpent-men. That entire area was tiresome, full of seemingly endless numbers of these half-serpent, half-human things. Once had had rid himself of their attention by slaying them like the wretched beasts they were, he stalked out of the next archway to the right onto another wooden platform, prepared to take on the large bastard he saw earlier. It didn't take much to get its attention; as soon as it say him, it hissed and reared its axe back. It barely missed Hawkwood was he rolled forward into it, nudging it back out of surprise. As soon as he was on his feet, he struck it with his greatsword before circle strafing behind it.

Luckily, he was patient, and didn't succumb into trying to get in more hits, because the serpent-man extended its neck and tried to grab him with its jaws from behind. Aloud, he thanked his swift reflexes that the Undead Legion so skillfully honed. As it hurled its body around to face him, he jabbed its side quickly before ducking left and forward before it brought down that hefty weapon down on his skull. A few more of careful hit trades, and the creature finally thrashed in pain as it died and crumpled. Letting out a sigh of relief, he took a moment to catch his breath and collect his through before carefully treading on the precarious makeshift bridge into yet another domed building. At least it didn't shake or wobble as he crossed the far too long length.

Like many of the other ruins on the peak, this building was surprisingly dim. There were stairs on the left that led to a small balcony of sorts, and to the right there was a corpse hanging out a window as well as a way outside. Even from the angle he stood at, he could clearly see the ruined front of a no longer accessible building, its entrance thoroughly covered by large amounts of debris, likely from another building's ceiling. Still, he persisted, determined to obtain his prized knowledge of how to become a dragon. If Consumed King Oceiros could unlock the secrets, so could he, and stay sane, at that. 

Once he was outside, he immediately spotted what looked to be a crystal lizard made of rock. It was about four times the size they usually were, but it still had those stubby legs and stubby head. And if weren't for the fact it began lunging towards Hawkwood, the thing would have been oddly adorable. He ran up the drab stairs that curved up and towards the left and near stumbled over one nearby the window of the building he just came from. The area ahead of him was flat, dull, and mostly nondescript except from the stone path to more stairs, a dead tree, and some dead grass, none of which actually stood that out much against everything else. He didn't really stop running, giving he could hear the grinding sound of rolling rock lizards behind him.

It almost didn't scare him shitless when another wyvern, smaller than the last but still terrifically colossal, roared. Its soaring shadow could be seen on the ground, and grew steadily larger as the man continued to dash up the stairs, not even bothering to look behind him as he heard the thing land with a great big thunk. He heard it stomp as it gradually turned around, and zig-zagged between two alarmed rock lizards. Behind him, he could hear the wyvern roaring and spewing forth searing hot flames and the creaking stone noises of the lizards, all of which he ignored as he leaped into a large building, rolling painfully onto the ground and hitting a wall. On his feet, he noticed that the wyvern took wing and flew away with a boisterous growl, and that the rock lizards were waddling back to their original positions.

Hawkwood decided with no immediate threat, he'd just lay on the ground for a little bit as he attempted to catch his breath. Archdragon Peak felt like one gauntlet run after another. Standing up, he brushed the dirt and dust off his armor, then wiped the sweat off his brow. Ahead of him, and to the left, he could see a small set of stairs leading out to an open arch. Carefully ambling up to it, he assessed the next room: a dim room full of unlit candles, knocked over incense burners, and plates with the shape of a sun engraved onto them, and to the right there was another corridor of sorts marked by two pillars that led to another part of the building. 

The next room wasn't nearly as dark, thanks to the large hole in the ceiling on the upper part. It was made up of essentially two balconies, each on different levels, with stairs leading up to them; the lower one, which he was on, led to the left, straight to an area lit by more holes in the ceiling, then to the right. From the ceiling hung faded banners and large incense burners. This room, too, had unlit candles, as well as dead grass peaking out from the spaces in between cracked stone flooring. Staring in his direction was another one of those cleric-looking serpent-men with a staff, but it didn't appear aware of him yet, or perhaps it simply didn't care. Either way, he slid along the left wall, past more meditating forms of dragonkin, noting that candles dotted the railings as well as at the feet of the disciples. Slowly he ascended the stairs, carefully sneaking up behind the seemingly unawares serpent-man before darting out to the left.

Now he stood in an arched breezeway, open on either side and lined with cracked pillars, with a great bell up a set of stairs to his left, a view of the very top of the peak to the right, and another large building straight ahead. He decided to take a quick look into the building. In the center of the room, amongst piles of various rubble, lay an unlit bonfire. To his right, an opening led outside towards the highest point of the peak.

Once he reached the Great Belfry bonfire, Hawkwood lit the familiar object, dropped to his knees, and slowly sat down before it, gazing absent-mindedly as it crackled. Archdragon Peak astounded him. Clearly, it was a real place; he saw it from the distance outside of Irithyl Dungeon. There was a certain amount of beauty in its ruined state. It was a peek into what the world could have been like before the Everlasting Dragons had been systematically slaughtered by Gwyn and his large army. Even if he hadn't known this was a place of worship, all the altars (especially the one he recently passed by that stood at the foot of a statue of a black dragon), the lit incense and candles, and the various bells clearly suggested it. 

After he meditated in front of the altar on the top of that hill facing a felled dragon, a strange, twinkling stone with the head of a dragon carved into it appeared on top of it, as well as a similar one with a twinkling flying dragon carved into it. The change of air pressure when it manifested was enough to rouse him. He took in a sharp breath of air before standing up, and rubbed his eyes when they recognized that the objects laying before him wasn't there before. Inquisitively, he picked both up, before finding a place in his rucksack for the objects. From his meditation, he knew exactly what it was for; if he used the stones, he could become a true dragon. With a clever smirk splitting his face, he walked his way back to the bonfire, taking a brief respite before deciding he'd take one last look around before returning back to the rest of the world.

As he turned the corner on his way out to the giant bell, Hawkwood's mouth dropped when he bumped into the backside of Adrian, who let out a cry of surprise before turning with both of his weapons raised in a clear threat. His eyes were, for a second, wild with violent intent before they crinkled with warm recognition. The man's lips tugged into a small smile, and he promptly sheathed his weapons as his body slowly relaxed. “Sorry,” Hawkwood almost-whispered sheepishly, his cheeks burning out of embarrassment: first out of running into the man, second from being in the man's personal space. As such, he backed away into a more appropriate distance as Adrian watched him with amusement. Biting his lip, Hawkwood said, “I didn't realize you were here.”

“Oh, you've been here longer than I have, considering I came across your deeply in trance body,” he replied in an almost teasing tone, folding his arms and putting his weight on one foot slightly more than another, hips akimbo. He tilted a shoulder up and it managed to make him look even taller. Hawkwood cleared his throat and ran his fingers over his stubble in contemplation. “So...” he began, his expression decidedly neutral but his cheeks still slightly tinged scarlet, “Did you find what you were seeking?” Raising a hand to his face and tapping at the side of his mouth, Adrian grinned and answered, “That I did. Behind where we fought Oceiros, no less. That building hid a false wall made of magic, and lead to a strange… place. It's a bit hard to explain.” 

His weight shifted to the other leg before adding, “And what about you?” Adrian's expression barely contained his sincere curiosity, Hawkwood noticed. The pause before Hawkwood answered felt burdened with things left unsaid, especially with the way the other man's eyes read him and his expression, always made that much more extreme by his starkly dark eyes, subtly softened and his grin faded into a modest smile, though no less welcoming. For a moment, his eyes looked away in avoidance. “Yes, I found what I was looking for,” he answered gravely, staring back at the man right in his eyes before turning his eyes down. He closed his eyes, wishing to not see the other man's face at the moment. Gazing at the object of his longing wasn't making this any easier.

How he wanted to give in to his desire to close the small distance between the two, crane his head up, wrap an arm around Adrian's waist and one around his shoulder, and catch the other man's mouth in his own with a kiss so savage it could would make Pontiff Sulyvahn shudder if he were still alive. Instead, he stood in front of the man almost squirming under the competing weights of his desire to full realize the path of the dragon and his desire to lose himself in another man. And despite all his suggestion and expression, Adrian had never actually acted on what he clearly felt, in return. Man was a goddamn tease, that's what he was. What the other man was waiting for, Hawkwood didn't know, and almost didn't want to know so close to his own goal. 

He would become a dragon.

Only one person could become a true dragon.

And wasn't that a dilemma, when Adrian was here, of all places?

Hawkwood tensed under the intense warring threatening his mind, knowing quite well the man before he would likely read every signal that something wasn't right. With as much tension in his head as a result of grappling with the idea that only one could follow the path, and that Adrian was here, of all places, where numerous disciples had attempted to walk the path? Adrian must have sensed his growing sense of unease, because he asked, “Is something the matter? Have I offended you?” And oh gods, how concerned and vulnerable he looked, with his eyes wide, his lips almost pouting, and his brows arched up towards his forehead. He had to literally force himself to look at Adrian. Instead of answering it directly, he posed a question, his voice thick and wavering in intonation, “Did you pick up a stone with a dragon on it at the altar at the top of the peak?”

Adrian's brow furrowed, and he began deeply frowning out of bemusement. “Yes. Yes I did. What does that have to do with anything?” he said, drawing his crossed arms in a tighter fold and leaning back on his feet. He tilted his head up and looked at Hawkwood at the corner of his narrow eyes. Closing his eyes again, Hawkwood ran his fingers over his eyelids and a deep, long exhalation escaped his lips that he was rapidly biting raw. Shaking his head, he thought up a reply, eyes still closed, still stubbornly refusing to look at Adrian because it made it that much more difficult to swallow the fact that he was no longer just a distraction; picking up that twinkling dragon stone made him a rival, and would prevent Hawkwood's own ascendance. “Oh Adrian, do you know what you have done?” he asked, his voice raw (as raw as he felt at the moment, and he felt turned inside out) and even more raspy and gravelly than usual finally opening his eyes to peer at the man before him.

At that moment, he didn't know who had betrayed who. Maybe it was a collaboration betwixt the two of them.

Cocking an eyebrow, Adrian slowly dropped his head down, his mouth agape in shock. In a rather clipped manner, he responded with a scoff, “No. I suppose not.” Hawkwood couldn't quite read next expression that sidled across his face, but it looked somewhere between incredulous, frightened, and vexed. At this point, their distance from each other felt miles apart, and the air felt distinctly frigid in that room, as though the undertones of the conversation had influenced the physical world. They stared at each other, trading glances that muddied the lines between indignant and miserable. And seeing Adrian actually disgruntled, for once, was shocking, especially because of how severe displeasure looked on his face.

“If you don't mind, I'm going to abandon ship on this conversation and ring-a-ding-ding that thing back there,” he said, pointing his thumb behind him in the direction of the gigantic bell. When Hawkwood opened his mouth to protest, Adrian shook his head and an index finger of his right hand that he held out. “Don't mistake my intentions for yours, Hawkwood,” he sighed, giving him a rueful half smile that rapidly flattened out into a less pleasant thin expression, “I'm quite aware of what that'll do. I have a theory it might even answer questions I didn't know I had. I refuse to leave any rock left unturned.” He didn't even give Hawkwood time to argue because he deftly turned on his heels and strode the way out with his head angled up. But he didn't follow, and instead, turned to look at the bonfire, feeling utterly resigned. 

The bell tolled, and it rang throughout the entire peak in that deep, resonating, eerie tone, the same tone he had heard earlier. The sky quickly darkened, and the wind picked up from a mild puff to a wailing gust that seemed to grow in volume, and never cease. Thunder rumbled defiantly, shaking the ground, and he could hear the heavy drumming of hard (though not torrential) rain on the ground.

With regret and anguish gnawing away in his chest, Hawkwood approached the bonfire, and warped out, holding his breath, his head down, and curling both his fingers and toes. When he phased into Firelink Shrine, his arms were wrapped around himself as though attempting to give himself a comforting embrace. 

Lifting his gaze, Firelink Shrine felt… emptier than he remembered it, despite the Cinders of each Lord, except for Lothric, placed at their thrones, Andre still forging on like the world wasn't ending, and the Fire Keeper sitting at one of the stairs on the side, silent and as vigilant as ever.

He quietly sat down at the same spot he did before, but it would only be to quickly write a message onto swordgrass retrieved from his rucksack with a bit of ink. The ink and quill were a bit difficult to come across, especially in times like these, but it was entirely necessary. After finishing his task, he approached Andre, balling up the fist not holding the swordgrass and pursing his lips.

“Next time you see Adrian, I implore you, give him this message. It's of the utmost importance,” he explained, holding out the swordgrass, as the blacksmith stopped answering and quirked an eyebrow at him. Concern swept across the burly man's face as he asked, “What's got y' looking like a kicked dog?” When Hawkwood flinched at the question, the blacksmith, with a curiously delicate motion, took the swordgrass without so much as looking at it and set it aside. “'Sok,” he spoke not unkindly in that croaky voice of his, “I won't intrude on y' privacy. This is between you and Adrian.” Giving Andre a curt nod, he frowned and bid goodbye, reticent to stay any longer to sit and actually digest what he was about to do, the same thing he had done to his lover so long ago.

His legs felt like lead as he walked to the bonfire, aware it would likely be the last time he saw Firelink Shrine. The heat of it failed to soothe the growing trench he felt in his gut, part dread, part desolation. And with a vibrating chime and a whirl of fire and smoke, he was gone.

The dire message he gave Andre had said, “Come to the mausoleum in Farron. Only one can take the path of the ancient dragons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split this chapter up because it ended up being eighteen pages long! Promise the second half has glorious smut.
> 
> Also, I can't be the only one who's reminded of Highlander with the implicit "There can be only one" in Hawkwood's message.


	10. Dance with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian shows up for the not-duel and nearly gets killed in the process of trying to get the fact he wants to bone Hawkwood through his skull. It happens. Eventually. Aka "Right in Two" part two.

Hawkwood had his arms folded incredibly close to his chest, fully betraying his complete discomfort with his task. He envied Adrian ability to compartmentalize; as per his profession, as an assassin he had no compunction against harming others, and especially not killing, because it was simply the job description. He supposed that wasn't too much different than the Undead Legion, but the Abyss Watchers always operated under the cloak of night, and targeted entire villages, cities, nations, whereas assassination was so much more personal in nature. Adrian wasn't a soldier, but a precise weapon, not fighting for a greater cause such as preventing the spread of the Abyss, but for personal gain. At least, that's what he inferred, and that's what he was sticking with to assuage the prickling, nauseous pit growing in his stomach. If he stripped Adrian down to simple caricatures, it was far easier.

He had to remember his purpose behind being here.

It was less “kill Adrian” and more “walk the path of the dragon.” The latter just meant the former was a result.

The wait felt like it went on for eternity, but perhaps it was simple nerves. The bodies of the deceased Abyss Watchers, having their souls been burned up for the Cinder, formed bloody piles on the ground. Despite the time that had passed, the bodies hadn't decomposed, as if being preserved by magic. Blood puddles and splatters on the ground and wall also appeared to be just as bright and shiny as the day they happened. He stood in the middle of it all, trading between watching the open doors to the mausoleum that allowed streams of light to come through and watching the bonfire on the far, opposite end, right before the opened passage down to the Catacombs of Carthus. 

But at some point, he heard the distinct sound of the bonfire sputtering and pealing as an Undead teleported in behind him, prompting to turn and look at the newcomer.

Adrian stood, looking every bit as hesitant and nervous as himself, with his hands not even on his weapons or staff. His equipment was still sheathed and on his hips. But his right hand certainly clutched something, though Hawkwood couldn't quite tell from the distance what it was, beyond that it was a pale color, with several spidery forks on one end, and didn't appear to be a weapon. They stood and stared at each other for an inordinate amount of time before Adrian stepped forward gingerly, his lips slightly parted, his eyes wide, and his brow raised but furrowed.

“Hawkwood,” he stated simply, so quietly he could barely be heard, especially at the distance they stood from one another. It wasn't a timid voice, but a small one born out of sheer bewilderment. He moved in slightly closer, looking even more puzzled as Hawkwood failed to move forward. Eventually, a few arm lengths away, he lurched to a sudden stop when Hawkwood began to speak, voice laced with emotion, and his fingers drummed against his crossed arms. 

“Ah, I should have known. Well, I've decided to stop running from my fate. Loathe me all you like, I shall take what makes you dragon.”

Loudly unsheathing his dagger and Farron Greatsword, Hawkwood began to strafe to the side of the incredibly dumbfounded looking man, who barely had time to react as Hawkwood rushed from the side and swung his sword. Surely the man wasn't foolish enough to sit there and gawk. The slash sawed through the leather wrappings on his left arm between his steel pauldron and gauntlet. He hissed as blood dampened and soaked through the ruined leather and jumped back, grimacing and glowering at Hawkwood. 

“Hawkwood,” Adrian barked with a pained snarl, still stubbornly refusing to unleash his weapons, rapidly backing away from the stalking warrior. Hawkwood noticed the man watched his feet as much as he watched Hawkwood's arms, and tried to match his moves with the opposite, ducking left when Hawkwood went right and such. As he chased after Adrian, with a little bit of dark amusement, he noted that they were almost matched in fleetness of foot as well as fleetness of reflexes. Adrian would have made an incredible Abyss Watcher in another life, indeed, certainly better than himself. Unfortunate how it had to end this way, but at this point Hawkwood had long since conceded that it was fate.

“What do you suppose you are doing, Adrian, refusing to fight yet refusing to flee?” he shouted as he feinted diving to the left in order to catch the other man off guard and actually land a hit. Not falling for it, Adrian continued to back up more, getting closer and closer to the wall as he did so. At this rate, he'd corner himself. Wasn't he supposed to be attentive and keen on reading the situation? As if hearing Hawkwood's thoughts, he managed to stride towards the right still facing Hawkwood, his dexterity at least granting him the ability to do so without tripping over his long legs. 

He huffed out a response that was an octave higher than his last attempt at deceit or whatever it was he was attempting to do, “It doesn't have to be this way!” His brief pause in movement was enough of an opening that it enabled Hawkwood twirl the blade across Adrian's abdomen once, though just as quickly he rolled out of the way gritting his teeth together to avoid the rest of the combination. Clever, yes, but Hawkwood was more than aware that even with the chainmail protecting his intestines from being spilled everywhere, his blow would have certainly smarted given the force behind it. It took considerable strength to wield the sword with one arm, after all.

And still he refused to reach for his weapons, not even his staff to fling a quick spell from a safe distance, and still he refused to run away. Though, Adrian seemed to be losing patience; every flash of metal through the air had his expression gradually morphing from confusion to annoyance, made all the more startling with sable eyes and dark eyebrows. Hawkwood rushed in for a leaping slam, grunting as the assassin managed to juke him enough to bolt behind him. Impressive, he found it, for sure. And when that happened, he expected Adrian to rush forward and draw him into a chokehold, or perhaps draw his blade and ram it straight into his lungs from behind, but instead he heard soft panting behind him as he used Hawkwood's recovery to recover himself. 

“You're going to tire out, sooner or later,” Hawkwood warned as he pivoted around to face Adrian. This time, he approached Adrian with a slower pace with a burning, determined gaze. Cautiously ambling towards the side, always moving, Addrian retorted, “You'll tire out before I do. I'm not swinging a heavy sword.” His tone was almost venomous. Almost. Hawkwood then darted towards him after a pause, at least grazing the man's less armored right side in a quick fling of the greatsword. More in irritation than pain, Adrian growled and curled his lips.

The situation reminded him of the fight with Oceiros, where Adrian seemed to dance with the movements of the dragon. And wasn't that an interesting thought, that their methodical, reactive movements across the floor, with Hawkwood trying to inflict wounds whilst Adrian tried to avoid them, resembled a grisly dance, especially with a ballroom floor of bodies and blood-stained stone? Hopping swiftly to the left, Adrian circled around Hawkwood through a set of whirlwind blows. When he turned to face Adrian, Hawkwood listened to him sigh loudly.

“Why are you even trying to kill me? You helped me, I helped you, and this is what I get in return?!” Adrian exclaimed stridently, dodging one of Hawkwood's quicker, successive blows. Yowling in impotent incomprehension, the frustrated assassin added, “Talk to me, Hawkwood!” His hands went nowhere near his weapons, especially the one still clutching the small object he couldn't quite identify, especially with Adrian flitting across the mausoleum. “You have something you shouldn't. You wouldn't understand,” Hawkwood croaked, his pitch changing as he spoke as he grew more remorseful. His throat felt absolutely parched, in stark contrast to the feeling that he was sweaty from exertion.

But he wasn't tired. Not yet.

“Then make me understand, goddammit,” Adrian yelled while maneuvering out of a rotating hit. But, he hadn't expected the next blow; Hawkwood all but closed his eyes and held in his breath as it connected and hit the man hard enough to send him flinging backwards against the nearest wall. Granted, Adrian had backed himself close to the wall again, but it looked, and sounded, like it hurt. Adrian rushed to right himself onto his feet before Hawkwood leaped to take advantage of the situation. Blood and soot smeared Adrian's face, and he looked not unlike before the battle with Oceiros, though less crazed and more chagrined. Blood oozed from his nose and painted everything from his nostrils down to the cleft of his chin in bright, opaque crimson. 

He licked his lips in resentment and bared his teeth. His eyes and the shaking of his body screamed his pain for him.

Adrian hissed, roughly wiping off his mouth with his clenched right fist, “Hawkwood, stop.” But Hawkwood wouldn't be deterred now, when he could practically feel himself taking the stone from Adrian. His death would only be temporary and he would rise again, Hawkwood reassured himself, suffocating thoughts that it would tarnish any sort of camaraderie they had. It was the price he had to pay. It was the price he would pay. Everything was in motion, and it would be a waste to give up now. 

Wouldn't Adrian do the same in his place without so much as a pause, a hitch in his breath, quaking in his boots, any sort of apprehension as to the weight of his deed?

Hawkwood had begun to notice that Adrian's movements were slightly slower, and his left leg limped oh so slightly. “If you kill me,” he rasped as he jumped to the right to avoid another fierce sword blow, “it won't stop me. I won't give up on you.” The distance between the two, even after dodges on Adrian's part, was rapidly closing. Though Adrian wasn't quite physically showing it, Hawkwood knew he was in sheer agony, especially after being hurled against the wall by the sword. It made his reflexes duller. Eventually, even if he wasn't exhausted, his pain would be the thing to bring about his death in the fight. He was certainly Adrian knew it, too. 

All because he refused to duel and instead play a deadly game of chase.

Under his quick feint with his left hand towards Adrian who was now close enough to punch he swung a foot out and swept the man off his feet by aiming for his injured left leg. Adrian cried out as he landed on his back, and could all be bleat, “Hawkwood, don't, please,” as Hawkwood slammed the sword down onto the man's chest hard. He almost expected the sound of cracking to fill his ears. Adrian's eyes went wide with terror, wider than he had ever seen them, and his lips wavered in frantic, soundless words as he extended his shaking right hand to Hawkwood and held his palm out.

Out from it extended a tiny white branch.

An archaic symbol of friendship.

His arm suddenly dropped as Hawkwood slapped his left hand, still clutching a dagger, to his mouth. Color rapidly drained from Adrian's face, his eyes darkened and his chest rose and fell more and more shallow. An intense pang of guilt pierced Hawkwood's gut. He killed him, and he had come not to duel but to offer him friendship and Hawkwood had been far too distrusting to see the truth. Sighing, he dropped his weapons and fell to his knees, using one hand to lift the other man's upper body. Adrian felt surprisingly heavy; perhaps that was just because of how slackened his body was given he was close to death. 

“Don't you die on me,” he whispered as he wrenched his estus flask from his own belongings. Gently tilting the man's head back and using his thumbs to open the man's mouth, he carefully poured the glowing amber liquid into Adrian's maw. Hawkwood pulled the man's torso into his lap as he used the back of his other hand to gently tap against his cheeks. He gathered the man into a tight embrace and trembled against him with his head laying against Adrian's.

Hawkwood nearly dropped the man when he heard a sharp intake of breath, and loud sputtering. Instead, he lifted his head and looked down at Adrian giving him a weary, anguished look. “Give me the flask,” he groaned, looking up into Hawkwood's surprised eyes. Well, at least he hadn't killed him, though he clearly got incredibly close. Without so much as a delay, he released his vice grip on Adrian and handed him the estus. Hawkwood watched him sit up and quaff it without so much as breaking for a breath. After drinking half the flask (which was excessive, even if he was substantially injured), he exhaled and handed it back to Hawkwood. 

Adrian wiped off the glowing liquid on his lips with his right hand, then gave Hawkwood a scowl. “Clearly I should have offered that stone I found instead of a tree branch. Alas, such small gestures seem to have gone over your heard,” he grumbled, poking Hawkwood with the end of the branch. Hawkwood snorted with irritation and replied, “You didn't exactly explain your motives.” The man shrugged and arched an eyebrow. “I thought it was obvious that I didn't want to fight. But since you want the stone soooo bad, here,” Adrian retorted, twisting his body to reach for his rucksack. He fished the stone out, and shoved it towards Hawkwood's chest.

“There, I forgive you if you'll take the stone and the tree branch and not go back to trying to murder me,” he said with a sigh, still frowning at Hawkwood. Hawkwood gingerly took the stone and his gaze darting between the stone and Adrian. Adrian gave him a deep, rumbling chuckle that seemed to emanate straight from his chest. “It's not a trick, silly,” he said, flashing Hawkwood a toothy grin and patting his back. Hawkwood still gawked at the stone, feeling amazingly foolish. He kept waiting for a punch to the jaw that never came with his body all tensed up. Adrian's lips came together again, and his grin melted into a slight, though still pleasant, smile.

Putting up his newly acquired duplicate, he reached for the young white branch cautiously, observing the twinkling going on in Adrian's eyes, then placed it into the rucksack as well. Adrian then pushed himself onto his knees, then finally stood and stretched. Hawkwood craned his head up, and jerked his head out of surprise when the man held out his hand. “Let's go to some place less… depressing. All things considered, I enjoy your company,” Adrian softly spoke with his eyes crinkling and kind. Hawkwood gawked at the hand for a bit before taking it and being dragged upwards onto his feet.

Now standing, Hawkwood brushed himself off before rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't know if he could say anything that would suffice for the situation; after all, even though Adrian was Undead, attempting to kill him was of great consequence. Giving Hawkwood one last look of regard, Adrian turned towards the doors and motioned for him to follow. “Where do you think's best?” he asked Hawkwood as he wandered to his right side, “I'd prefer somewhere without the smell of the worst parts of the swamp.” He reached out to wrap his right arm around the shoulders of Hawkwood, who couldn't help by lightly flush as he was hauled to Adrian's side. He suspected Adrian already had an idea of where he wanted to talk, but was leaving it to him out of politeness.

“Uhh, er, the bonfire at the outskirts of the keep should suffice,” he stammered as they walked out of the mausoleum together, out onto the stone path with dead bodies of Ghru splayed out and bloodied before them. There was scarcely a finger's width between him, and it should have made him uncomfortable given recent events but he didn't care. The touch was… nice, even if it was just a brotherly gesture and nothing more. They made their way across the brief clearing towards the keep outskirts, breaking away from each other only to kill the Ghrus sitting a stone's throw ahead of the bonfire. It was far better to be cautious, even if Ghru at this point were little more than biting fleas.

Sheathing his weapons, Adrian plopped down before the bonfire, set his weapons and bag aside, and looked up at the starless red, orange, and yellow sky. Hawkwood, too, sheathed his weapons, and sat down a turn left of him, certainly close enough to touch with extended arms, shoved his belongings aside, and crossed his legs, putting his hands near his knees with his head lowered slightly. Meanwhile, the assassin sat with his legs out towards the fire, and his arms outstretched with hands on the ground. “You know, if it weren't for the fact this sky is a harbinger of the apocalypse, it's actually quite pretty,” Adrian said with a grin, swaying his feet back and forth. Hawkwood noted that of course they were as large and unwieldy as one would expect from someone tall, though his hands were dainty and graceful in comparison.

It took a few moments to sink in that Adrian had said anything. On his skin, he could practically feel the assassin raise an eyebrow quite high as he looked at him, but at least he didn't clear his throat to remind Hawkwood that he was part absorbed in thought, part staring. “Oh,” he replied, feeling mortified at being so rude, “the sky. Yeah, I suppose so.” He shifted slightly, noticing Adrian giving him a very self-assured smirk. Now his mind got to whirling. Had Adrian left anyone behind in Vinheim? He found it hard to believe someone with his good looks had been alone (or was alone, for that matter). Fidgeting his hands and popping his lips, he looked down at his lap as he asked, “When you failed to link the flame, did you lose anyone?” 

He heard a harsh intake of air, the wet sound of a mouth opening, then closing, then opening again, as if struggling to answer. “Well, other than two sisters, neither of which ended up Undead as far as I know, no one,” he responded with a resigned shrug. Hawkwood lifted his head up 'til it was level and really looked at him. He tilted an eyebrow and pressed his lips together. Adrian sat up and folded his arms. “I'm dead serious,” he insisted, actually sounding a bit offended at Hawkwood's incredulity. And it was actually kind of cute, which was an indecently queer word to describe a lithe, towering assassin that could gut him with very few, but precise, movements.

“So, no wife or...?” Hawkwood further questioned, actually leaning towards Adrian. Adrian stared at him with a blank look for a second, then erupted into raucous laughter that went on for a while, before petering out into staccato gasps and high pitched noises that signaled an attempt to calm down. His eyes even appeared to have teared up; he used his gloved right hand to wipe off the moisture. “That's the funniest joke I've heard all day,” he squeaked, “And I regularly engage in discourse with Patches. But the answer is nooope.” He popped the 'p' of the word loudly. Chuckling to himself, he returned the man's own question, “And how about you, oh great Hawkwood of Farron, since we're asking awfully awkward personal questions?”

Hawkwood sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Before I deserted the Undead Legion, I had to take a sword to my old lover because he went Hollow,” came spilling out of his mouth, shutting his eyes tight and taking a shuddering breath. “Ahhh. Well, shit, I'm sorry,” Adrian said with a flinch and grimace. In response, Hawkwood shook his head, and took a deep breath, “You didn't know.” Hawkwood sat in awkward silence, which Adrian seemed to mirror for a while before he cleared his throat.

“You might find this impossible to believe,” the Vinheim assassin said that bit with severe and obvious sarcasm, “But I was quite the pain in the ass at the Dragon School. I wasn't a bad student, per se, I was just smart mouthed and devious. I think I spent all my extracurricular time cleaning chamberpots out of punishment, and I had a switch taken to my backside a couple of times when I was young and impulsive. My instructors had quite a love hate relationship with me, given I was actually good at my studies.”

Hawkwood snorted loudly. Well, that bit of information wasn't surprising at all, given his flamboyant, devil may care attitude. He leaned forward, propping his head up with his right hand. “No, I don't believe you,” he said dead-pan, the only glimpse of amusement in his eyes. 

“It's not that I never, ever had sex, just that… well, it was constricted to romps in a doorman's closet. Dragon School had the sexes separated into their own respective dormitories, you see, so it was natural, I suppose, that other male students would get… lonely,” Adrian added with a nonchalant shrug. 

Faking a loud cough, Hawkwood then asked, “So, do they teach prospective spies and assassins how to use a sword?” Adrian hummed a nonsense tune before replying, “That they do. And I suppose the Undead Legion teaches recruits how to do that thing you do with the sword?” Rolling his eyes sarcastically, Hawkwood nodded his head slowly. “Yes, they do,” he then responded as though it were a preposterous question, shooting Adrian only pretend irritation, “Though, 'that thing with the sword' is nonspecific. You could be referring to any number of skilled maneuvers. But the answer to all of them is yes. I could even teach you.” The last sentence rolled out of his mouth without thinking, and it caught him by surprise.

“Oh,” Adrian exclaimed, tittering a little with his mouth covered like a child, “That's not necessary. I don't even use greatswords. Thank you though, your offer to teach me a lesson in swordplay.” He said it so flat and expressionless Hawkwood doubted for a moment it lacked a double meaning, but it was Adrian, after all. Still, he eyed Adrian with mock suspicion, who still held an exceptionally innocent expression. The silence, this time, was comfortable and warm. Eventually, Adrian returned to the original half-prone position.

“Do you know what Andre said about you, when he gave me your swordgrass message?” Adrian questioned, his expression serious. Hawkwood shook his head. Now he was genuinely curious where Adrian was taking this. Slowly shaking his head, he simply replied, “No.” Adrian rested his head on one of his shoulders and gave him the faintest wry smile that he almost didn't catch. “He said that you had changed,” he replied solemnly, looking thoughtfully into the sky.

“He also said you were a crestfallen arse,” he then added, finally breaking into a large grin, large enough that his eyes crinkled. They sparkled like magic in the light. He licked his lips, looked away, and chuckled to himself. “Although I'm inclined to agree that you are an arse, you're an arse I want to know, to be friends with. Well, obviously, given I offered you a branch. But seriously, you're great,” he added, reaching out to squeeze Hawkwood's shoulder. Hawkwood expected an added 'but' on the end of the statement, but it didn't happen. Adrian genuinely meant it.

Maybe it was the light but Adrian looked slightly flushed.

At some point Hawkwood noticed that they seemed to slowly slink towards one another in front of the fire as they told each other tales. Not that he minded. Adrian seemed completely relaxed with him, at times laying before the bonfire almost supine. Between periods of silence while they spoke about their past they exchanged the coy glances of longing of old, but somehow they felt more real, more weighted. They would give each other tiny knowing smiles, before returning to their tales, and subconsciously scooting towards one another in front of the bonfire. Ultimately, Adrian ended up leaning against Hawkwood, in such a way he had to actually crane his head up slightly in order to look at Hawkwood. Adrian tentatively reached down with his left hand to attempt to twine it with the other man's right.

It was that contact, and not the others weight against his side, which astonished him and hitched his breath. He jerked his head down and first gazed at Adrian's hand around his, then at the man looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes that seemed to scan him for any hint of rejection or upset. Realizing that he had been holding his breath, he sighed, wet his lips, then caught Adrian's hand timidly. Adrian then sat up and slowly moved his face in close to Hawkwood's until their noses nearly touched. With half-lidded, pleading eyes, he asked huskily, “Oh darling, may I?” Softly gasping, Hawkwood could do little more than nod as Adrian took his chin in his free hand and planted a surprisingly chaste on his lips.

Hawkwood's other hand threaded through Adrian's hair as he returned it, sighing against his mouth. Then, Adrian pulled away to take a look at Hawkwood and grinned. “Oh, I've wanted to do that for so long, but I was afraid you'd say no and I couldn't bear to look at you if you did. I rather like you, after all,” he chuckled self-consciously, wrapping his other arm around Hawkwood and nuzzling his shoulder possessively as though he were still sure Hawkwood would change his mind on the situation and flee. Hawkwood smiled back at him and replied, “That makes two of us then.” He laughed, though it lacked the dark, biting, sardonic undertone it usually did. Lifting Adrian's hand, he softly stroked it when his free hand before kissing it. 

“You know, when you smile, you're breathtakingly handsome. N-n-not that you aren't already, but it's easier to see,” Adrian whispered shyly.

In the orange glow of the bonfire, Hawkwood noticed that Adrian's cheeks looked darkened, and his pupils looked blown. Had he made the other man blush through a purely innocent kiss? With the other man so close, he felt incredibly conscious of his own body; he definitely felt alarmingly jittery, not to mention he felt incredibly warm in a way that was difficult to describe than it felt beyond what the bonfire produced. Soon after, Adrian flashed him a wolfish grin and kissed him again, this time moving his lips more and moaning, though not deepening it, not yet, but the way his body pressed against the others screamed for it half-mad with lust. They held on to each other, keeping each other from crashing to the ground as their lips met in smacking and popping and even soft hissing noises of pleasure that seemed impossibly loud in the large, ceiling-less room, even over the sounds of the fire. Emboldened, Hawkwood groaned loudly against the others mouth before nibbling on his lower lip and running a (still not bare) hand down his chest. He reluctantly pulled himself away to feast his eyes on the man before him, who was panting and wiped away the slickness on his lips.

His trousers became uncomfortable with his arousal, a gloriously heavy unhinging pressure, straining against the fabric of small clothes and the leather of his pants. Adrian ducked his head slightly, leaning closer, and then he was licking up from his slightly exposed jugular notch all the way to the tip of Hawkwood's bristle covered chin with the flat of his tongue. Hawkwood shuddered at the sensation of that warm, soft slickness made all the more hot by the heat of his aroused body and the fervor of the bonfire. He roughly grabbed Adrian by the hair above his nape and pulled him into another kiss full of tongue and teeth, his other hand anchoring his captive. The other man arched his back and moaned as his own tongue met the other man's mouth. He then pulled himself into Hawkwood's lap, wrapping his arms around the man's neck and grinding down lightly.

The friction was enough that Hawkwood tore away to let a noise between a broken sob and a moan escape his mouth, releasing his grip on the other man's hair to cling to him. Grinning crookedly, Adrian whispered in his ear, “Touch me, Hawkwood of Farron. Take away this aching hunger that has left me terribly void on the inside. I'm yours.” He wrapped his lithe legs around the man, unwilling to let go of any part of him and risk losing him again. Hawkwood's breath hitched, and his heart felt like it was fluttering itself out of his chest. Nuzzling the other man where the edge of his jaw met his neck, Hawkwood asked with a whisper, “What would you have me do, then?” Then, he idly curled some of Adrian's hair around his fingers.

Against his body, he felt Adrian tremble weakly before he pulled himself off the man's lap. Standing up, he slowly began to take off his gear, unclipping the cape, tearing it off and flinging it on the floor, unwrapping his right glove, taking off the left gauntlet and unwrapping the leather underneath, and nudging them into a pile with his boots. After some unbuckling, he raised the black leather vest above his head, exposing the chainmail underneath. That, too, came off to join the rest of his armor with plinking of the individual metal rings. Hawkwood's eyes raked over Adrian's exposed chest, reveling in the knowledge it was uncovered for him. 

The sight of him trying to urgently take off the iron kneecaps without ripping them off was fairly amusing, if not thoroughly endearing. With his boots, he was far less patient, kicking them off with ardor. Hooking his fingers into the waistline of his pants, he peeled them off, resulting in his semi-hard member to slap hard and free against his bare thighs. The other man arched an eyebrow before speaking, “That's not an answer, exactly.” Thrumming with amusement, Adrian returned to sitting in the other man's lap, this time with his back to Hawkwood's armored chest. He craned his head backwards, then took the other man's right hand into his own lap, precariously close to his twitching cock. “I don't have to spell THAT out, I hope,” Adrian quipped with a sly grin, “But I wouldn't mind if you used that armored hand of yours to scratch me or harshly squeeze any bits of flesh. I'm also not opposed to biting. I don't mind a little bit of bleeding, but I'd prefer not to be literally gouged or torn open.” Adrian chewed on his lower lips out of desire and closed his eyes.

Which he promptly opened with a throaty moan when Hawkwood wrapped his right hand around his cock and used the other to take a fistful of hair. Hawkwood's hold on the other man's aroused organ was neither too loose, nor was it a death grip. At the very least, it was the right amount of friction that Hawkwood liked when he went would fondle it in private. He began to slowly pump up and down, grinning as Adrian's cock began to harden more, thicken and lengthen. He wondered if the soft leather on his hand felt good, though with the way Adrian whimpered and the way his legs quaked, especially his thighs, it couldn't be bad. Hawkwood released his left hand, caressing Adrian's left shoulder before digging the sharp tips of the gauntlet into his skin, leaving behind shallow white marks. The man in his lap jerked forwards, almost out of his lap, and he growled, “By the weighty, heaving bosom of Gywnevere, more. You're not gonna break me, damn it. I'll tell you if you're actually hurting me.” Hawkwood lapped at the man's neck with his tongue and avid mouth as he stroked up and gently wiggled a finger down the slit and into the foreskin, smiling mischievously as Adrian writhed.

Hawkwood looked over the taller man's shoulder down at his handiwork, delighting in the weeping of the other man's erection and the throbbing within his hands. Returning to his languid stroking, he began to nibble timidly at Adrian's neck, who bared it eagerly with a sigh. By now, Hawkwood felt his own need twitching at every movement and every noise the man sitting in his lap made. Because of his own desire that somehow kept rising, and his ease that despite nearly murdering his lover (yes, his lover, what else would you call the person that you willingly jerked off?) he couldn't (and wouldn't) hurt the man, he then gave Adrian's neck an experimental bite where it met the shoulder. Against Hawkwood's tented crotch, Adrian ground his naked buttocks in response and cried out. And in response to that, Hawkwood bit down again, harder, watching the expression on the other man's face to search for pain. Adrian's eyes lidded in bliss and his jaw slackened. 

Hawkwood then suckled on the flesh, noticing the beads of sweat that began to form on Adrian's naked form. He rolled the other man's pink nipples with his left hand, and somehow managed to make it delicate despite the iron gauntlet. Beneath the other man, he began to grind up against him, making strangled sounds of pleasure. That had Adrian groaning and bucking his hips into Hawkwood's gloved hand, smearing its dark surface with the preliminary fluids of arousal. Underneath his armor, Hawkwood began to feel a bit sweaty and hot himself, and if it hadn't meant stopping what he was doing, he'd have remove his own armor. However, he found something deeply arousing about pleasuring another man while still fully clothed. Still sucking marks on Adrian's neck, he slid his left hand down to the other man's inner thighs and caressed them as his other hand worked the cock faster.

Adrian's eyes rolled back and a loud, wanton keen escaped from his mouth as he rested the back of his head against Hawkwood's shoulder. His hands grasped onto the sides of Hawkwood's own muscular thighs as he bucked up into every motion the other man made with his hands. Chuckling softly, Hawkwood reluctantly had his gauntlet clad left hand glide up from those long legs so he could wrap that arm around Adrian's chest. “Don't launch yourself off of me now,” he breathed teasingly into the man's ear before nibbling on his earlobe and tugging him closer. Briefly, he nuzzled the other man's hair before digging the fingers of his metal gauntlet into his skin, drawing a sudden gasp from him. The wriggling in his lap made Hawkwood groan and catch his breath. If it endured, he'd end up spending in his trousers, which he didn't particularly desire.

As if reading his mind, Adrian's body began trembling, and he whimpered as he reclined against Hawkwood, “Please bite me hard, I'm so close. Fuck, you're good at this.” He almost looked in pain with his eyes screwed shut and with the frantic biting his lip. Grinning, Hawkwood brought his left hand up to cradle Adrian's face before moving it aside to clamp his teeth down on his neck as his right hand pumped the man's cock even faster. He had to tell himself this is what the man wanted as he forced himself to bite harder, feeling Adrian's body jerk and arch as he felt his teeth pierce the flesh. The faint taste of copper filled his mouth, which he found to be nostalgic, remembering his imbibing of wolf's blood. After his entire body tensed, Adrian screamed as his cock spurted for several seconds before he crumbled in Hawkwood's lap like a wilted flower, breathing hard and still shaking.

Now his right glove was sullied with the other man's semen but he couldn't find himself to care as he soothed Adrian's wounded neck with a kiss and scooped him up into an embrace. “That was beautiful,” Hawkwood muttered into Adrian's ear with a wide, indecent grin, feeling like he was acting far more Adrian than Adrian himself at the moment. The man in his lap replied with a lazy grunt. While his new lover caught his breath, Hawkwood gingerly licked the spend off his right glove, noting the salty, slightly bitter taste. Like on cue, Adrian rose, looking quite debauched between the sweaty, disheveled hair, his still labored breathing, and his softening member with the tip coated in cum. Gently, Hawkwood turned the man around to give him a quick, breathless kiss. “That was amazing. I have no complaints,” Adrian laughed wearily, “I'd cling to you but I don't want to leave a lovely little slime print of my prick on your nice leather armor.” His face lit up into an obscene, if a bit wavering, smile as he gazed into Hawkwood's eyes.

No doubt he had a wicked gleam in his eyes as Hawkwood pinned Adrian down on the ground to lick and lap at his spent cock, sucking on it as Adrian thrashed, before releasing it with a squelching pop. Panting, Adrian pushed himself up onto his elbows, and taking one good look at the large bulge in the front of Hawkwood's pants, asked, “Surely you want me to take care of that?” Hawkwood captured his mouth into a slow, deep kiss before stroking the man's cheeks with the back of his soft leather glove. “I never said I didn't,” he replied before standing with his legs on each side of Adrian's hips to urgent shed his armor. 

In contrast to the relatively hairless (operating term being relatively), streamlined body, Hawkwood's wiry body had coarse hair on his legs, arms, and chest. While Adrian's body was that of a fleet-footed spy whose focus was finesse with smaller, light-weight blades, his was that of a powerful warrior used to hauling heavy blades. Also in contrast, hair was short and jet black, slightly receded at the very edge. And that wasn't even touching the issue he was clearly older, which hadn't deterred Adrian in the least. Even so, the man in front of him gave him a pleased, if tired, grin, his eyes especially dancing over Hawkwood's exposed crotch that stood out proudly erect. All of his insecurities over it melted at that moment.

Hawkwood stepped over Adrian to return to his belongings and fished out a small bottle of oil, the kind he normally used to condition his leathers as well as to lubricate blades to shave. His eyes wandered over Adrian's sprawling form. Oh, he knew exactly what he was going to shove between those tempting thighs. With the bottle in hand, he sat before Adrian, giving his thick length a stroke before demanding of him, “Drag yourself over here.” Adrian did as he told enthusiastically, looking at Hawkwood expectantly as he spread his legs on either side of Hawkwood's crossed legs. Gnawing on his lower lips over the sight before him, Hawkwood pulled him into his lap, groping the man's shapely yet soft buttocks as he hiked his legs to rest on Hawkwood's shoulders.

He reached over for the vial, uncorked it, and began spreading the oil across Adrian's inner thighs that were as pale as marble, his touch lingering and reverential. Slicking his member, he wrapped an arm around Adrian's knees as he inserted it between the man's thighs and thrust forward between them, above the other man's genitals. He groaned at the sight of it disappearing between the man's glistening thighs. The friction it caused was divine, especially how it felt against his foreskin. His eyes met the other man's and smirked, amused by how transfixed and flustered Adrian looked at the sight. Once again, Adrian was the flushed of the two, uncharacteristically so, and surprisingly quiet as though he were bashful.

“Squeeze your thighs together tighter, if you would,” Hawkwood rasped, mentally overwhelmed that yes, he had his cock between Adrian's thighs, and yes, he was sliding it in between them. Droplets of sweat pooled at the edges of his hairline and began to trickle down his forehead. Adrian complied and looked up at Hawkwood, dazed and similarly sweaty. All those feelings of hopelessness, aggression, and frustration he felt before and during their fight was now being channeled into the vigorous plunging occurring quite literally between Adrian's thighs.

At the base of his spine and at the bottom of his loins, he felt a steadily building heat coil and pool. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Adrian's knees as he caressed the man's thighs with his free hand. The other man closed his eyes, sighed, and smiled. He looked peaceful and pleased, if exhausted by the day's events… if it was even still the same day. It was a bit hard to tell with the perpetual eclipse. Either way, there wasn't anywhere else, any place in time he'd prefer to be as their flesh touched in the most magnificent way. As he consumed Adrian's body in a glorious symphony of erratic breathing and the soft but ever present slapping of flesh, his body in turn was consumed, and he never wanted it to stop.

When Adrian opened those twinkling deer-like eyes, he took one look at the way their bodies met and moaned. “If you hadn't already taken so much out of me, I'd ask you to just stick it in me. You should see how focused and determined you look; almost the same look you get in a scuffle,” he teased, his tongue swiping over his lips. Then, he pressed his thighs together tighter around the other man's length, chuckling as he heard Hawkwood's sputtered growls of indulgence. His rhythm became spasmodic as he struggled to keep himself from releasing. Panting, he managed to ask, “Do you want it on you or what?” 

Smirking, Adrian coyly bit his lip and pressed an index finger below his lower lip. “My mouth. I want to taste you,” he crooned deeply, his eyes half lidded, sliding his other hand down his own sweat-glossed chest. Releasing his grip on Adrian's legs, Hawkwood surged forward and stood before the other man, one hand clasping the base of his cock. Fluttering his eyelashes at Hawkwood, Adrian sat up, cradled the man's balls, and opened his mouth to offer his extended tongue. Gazing down at Adrian, Hawkwood vigorously pumped his cock with one hand and petted Adrian's hair with another. While he couldn't quite classify his affinity for the assassin as love (was it not early for that?), it was something special, something more. And damn, if it wasn't adorable that the foolish lad had brought a young white branch to a duel.

With stuttering breath and a loud, long groan, he spurted onto Adrian's tongue and lips, watching the milky partly translucent fluid pool and drip before the man swallowed, then licked around his mouth to get the rest. While the former Abyss Watcher caught his breath, Adrian licked the tip and foreskin clean, causing Hawkwood to twitch. Hawkwood felt like all the bones of his body had been sucked out and that he'd become a thoroughly satisfied puddle at any minute. “I don't know about you but I'm too tired to even put on armor to find a safe place to wash off,” he panted, trudging over to his belongings to pull out his bedroll. It prompted Adrian to laugh tiredly behind him as though in wordless agreement.

He flapped out the bedroll closer to the wall than the bonfire, knowing they'd both be warm sharing a measly bedroll between the two of them, not that he was complaining. It would be nice to sleep beside another warm body once more. He laid down on his side, facing the bonfire and gesturing Adrian to come over. Adrian stood and wobbled over to the spot, gracelessly flopping down in front of Hawkwood with his back touching the other man's chest. Hawkwood curled an arm over the taller man's body and sighed as a small smile curled his lips. His other hand curved above their heads.

“Sooooo, Hawkwood, if I had torn off all my armor and got down on my knees, would you still have nearly killed me with your greatsword? And I mean the one you use a dagger with, though I don't think I'd be too terribly opposed to attempted murder via dick,” Adrian half-whispered with a soft, warm laugh, reaching for Hawkwood's hand on his waist and squeezing it. Hawkwood kissed the back of his neck, chuckled almost inaudibly, and replied with considerable mirth, “At the very least, I would have been terribly confused.” He closed his eyes and nuzzled the other man's nape, feeling the weight of sleep begin to take over. But before it could fully envelop him in its dark embrace, Adrian yawned, then muttered, “G'night, my warrior.” Hawkwood snorted and gave him a quick squeeze on the hip. “Good night, my brash lad,” he replied before letting his body sink back and drift into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on writing an alternative scene for this chapter where Hawkwood's transformed dragon-man dick (and other appendages) is involved. It'll be the next thing I work on before the finale (which might end up having to be split into two chapters again because oops). It was requested when I already had the chapters all laid out. Hopefully that won't be TOO awkward.


	11. Saw Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian gets first hand experience with Hawkwood being a 'true dragon.' This may or may be the worst of puns and double entendre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an alt of chapter ten, and thus isn't part of the central plot and basically an extra goodie. I didn't know where to stick this, otherwise. It's also Adrian-focused. It's less a rewrite and more of a remix and reinterpretation. Oh hoh!
> 
> Also this is like 95% smut and involves the dragon form and kink involving the dragon form so if that squicks you out I don't suggest reading. You can skip this one.

Firelink Shrine felt extra welcoming after Adrian returned, having succeeded in killing the Nameless King after dying more than a dozen times. He wasn't ashamed of the fact; the Nameless King had been a formidable, swift, unpredictable foe, and from he gathered at Archdragon Peak, had been a god a long, long time ago. He didn't even know gods could go Hollow; the Nameless King looked little more than an ashen gray, skeletal husk, and he'd seen enough portraits of the old royal family of Anor Londo to know they appeared to look like normal human beings. And yet, he had given Adrian so much trouble. In fact, it was only a stroke of luck that Adrian survived with no estus and substantial injuries; he had rolled just a hair before a blow with the swordspear that should have killed him, and in turn killed the Nameless King with a flurry of twinblade swings.

Even still, Firelink Shrine had become more and more desolate over time, practically after each visit. Greirat had died looking for things to steal in Irithyl, having been killed by the centipede monsters in the sewers. Both him and Patches had been too late to save him. And Orbeck, too, had gone. Not died, mind you; he was Hollow. But after Adrian had been give Orbeck four scrolls and had been taught every single spell on each on, Orbeck left. The only reason why Adrian knew Orbeck went Hollow was because he found him Hollowed out in the Grand Archives, poking around for things he missed around those strange scholars with the heads covered in globs of hardened wax on the highest floor. Seigward disappeared after their triumph over Yhorm the Giant.

Then there was Hawkwood, who left the Shrine without so much as a goodbye (at least Orbeck and Greirat had given some indication).

Sure, he had just seen him at Archdragon Peak (not to mention their cooperation at the Consumed King's Garden) but he- he changed. It was far more subtle at the Consumed King's Garden but by the Darkmoon, at the peak did it ooze out of him like festered, fetid pus out of an infected wound. Something had sunk its teeth into Hawkwood and refused to let go. The sorts of expressions that played across Hawkwood's face were forever burned into Adrian's mind, particularly the dark, almost manic determination and an undercurrent of hostility, though not the kind necessarily born out of hate. In fact, he recognized that look right off of the scholars at the Dragon School who hired him for the explicit purpose of eliminating academic rivals.

He stood in front of the bonfire, shuddering as Hawkwood's last words played over and over and over in his mind.

Oh Adrian, do you know what you have done?

He hadn't, and how could he have known?

Maybe it had to do with that goddamned stone he had no personal use for, beyond studying it briefly, of course. You could take the sorcerer out of Vinheim, but you couldn't take the Vinheim out of the sorcerer, Adrian mused. If the pigheaded bastard had asked, he would have handed it over right then and there. Despite all his facetious attitude, he did actually respect Hawkwood, and he didn't just mean in the way one respects someone one feels physical attraction to and such. The battle with Oceiros more than proved the man was a capable warrior. Even his depressed and vitriolic attitude held something special for Adrian (though, admittedly, part of that was because he found it sexy in the right light). Despite his prickliness, Hawkwood actually helped Adrian with tidbits of information without much prompting, sometimes without any.

He delicately removed his Pharis's hat from his head. Raking his metal gauntlet through his hair for the extra sensation, he sighed. What the hell was he going to do? Chuckling morbidly to himself, he felt like the more he succeeded at the overarching task of returning the Lords of Cinder to their thrones, the more he lost personally. Like a prowling leopard, the cutthroat part of his mind (hah!) that allowed him to become an assassin chided him for thinking it could ever be otherwise, especially when the stakes were so high. At least, the only person he had turned his blade on that he called his friend was Horace, but that was because he had clearly gone Hollow, separated from poor unfortunate Anri. At least his poking into places he had no business being in revealed he didn't need to be burned as kindle for the First Flame. A Pyrrhic victory, to be sure.

After he was done feeling sorry for himself and introspective, he returned the hat to its rightful place on top of his head, and rose from beside the bonfire. Dusting the ash off his leather pants, he wandered over to the Fire Keeper to strengthen his own soul with those he took from Archdragon Peak, especially those he took from the Nameless King. After she made them his, looking at the Cinders he had already placed, he then wandered into the other section of Firelink. He cast a regretful glance at where Greirat once sat before turning his focus to Andre. Once he stood before the man's anvil, he requested, “Could you upgrade my twinblades for me?”

Looking up from his endless work, the blacksmith amiably replied, “Sure, just hand yer weapons and titanite over to me and I'll reinforce 'em with the help of some souls.” With quick, dextrous movements, he unsnapped the sheathed weapons from his hips, placed them on the anvil, then retrieved the titanite slab burning a figurative hole in his rucksack with its weight. Souls left over from Adrian's session with the Fire Keeper channeled over to Andre instantly. “Oh, don't see a lot of those anymore, not that they were common to begin with. They'll give the blade legendary strength,” Andre remarked at the sight of the slab, then went on to work. 

Adrian ambled over to the wall to the right and leaned against it, arms folded and feet tapping on the floor as he watched the man improve his swords. The rhythmic beating of the blacksmith hammer against the blades was as interesting to watch as it was to listen to. He admired the amount of skill it took to both craft and improve weapons, as well as the finesse behind infusion. A deceptively short amount of time passed before the pounding stopped, prompting Adrian to return to his previous place in front of Andre.

“Here they are. Oh, and by the by, that crestfallen arse Hawkwood, he handed me this. He's changed a great deal since he left this place. Graven of face, he asked me to give it to y',” Andre said, retrieving a few slivers of dried, bloodstained swordgrass from his belongings and handed them to Adrian in addition to his blades. Creasing his brow in confusion, he clipped his twinblades back to his belt and carefully took the swordgrass blades from the blacksmith's hands. As soon as it was in his hands, Adrian read the swordgrass, then looked over it a couple more times, as if expecting its contents to change.

Hawkwood called on Adrian to meet him in the same area he fought the Abyss Watchers in. He doubted it was for something as nice and friendly as meeting up for tea and exchanging pleasantries, especially given their last encounter. Though the message had few words, the meaning behind it was clear: he wanted a duel to the death over that damn stone. After digesting the message, he scowled and partly pulled out one of his twinblades in order to slide the blades of swordgrass into the leather sheath. Tension in his head pounded and drew tight behind his eyes, and he closed them in order to run the thumb and index finger of his right hand over his lids.

He turned back to face the bonfire and approached it. With a long, deep sigh, he sat in front of it, crossing his legs and leaning on the support of his right arm propped up on the elbow on his right thigh. While he could simply completely avoid showing up, he also wanted to see him and shake some sense into him. Despite what one would think about being unable to die and stay that way, Adrian hated the experience; often, the body's memory of the pain and terror of death lingered long after rising again at a bonfire. That, and it used precious time, both literally rising from the ashes as well as getting physically (and sometimes mentally) back to the point before death. If murder was ethically reprehensible because it denied someone a future, what did it truly mean to kill the Undead? Was unending torture so much better than the denial of possibility? And to think so much time being Undead had brought the philosopher out of an assassin.

What could he even do to mend the situation after that weird conversation at Archdragon Peak? Could he even? Would he even be able to reason with Hawkwood, assure him that he held absolutely no ill will towards him, and might even consider him a friend (gods know how few and far between trustworthy people were these days with everything gone to hell)?

A friend….

Oh.

He remembered what he had been buried with: a young white branch of a young birth tree, which in days past, served as a symbol of friendship. Rummaging through the sack of things he kept with him, he pulled it out, and held it close to his heart with both of his hands, despite not knowing who had given him it. If he offered this to Hawkwood, maybe the man would change his mind about the duel. Under normal circumstances, yielding wasn't something he would choose, but he'd do it for Hawkwood. Adrian smiled sorrowfully as his chest filled with the spreading warmth of affection, and clutched the small branch even tighter, closing his eyes and wishing he could embrace the deserter instead.

Adrian would refuse to ever raise his sword against the man. Even if it meant dying over and over and over again, should Hawkwood not acquiesce. He could stand that pain… just not the pain of killing a person that, against all odds, he enjoyed being around, his bespoke and often beautifully dissonant set of principles be damned. Assassin he might be, but monster he was not; since he wasn't on a hit anyways, he could indulge and be partial. Funny how the only time he used the full extent of his skills from his previous life was when he was summoned for duty as a Blade of the Darkmoon.

Could he not at least grant himself the emotions he forsook for sanguinary vice formerly?

And with a resigned sigh, he stood, flattening his palm over the flame, and vanished from the Shrine.

Farron Keep's mausoleum was eerily quiet when Adrian warped to the bonfire, and he found himself strangely humbled that nothing about the room had changed since he last saw it. Bodies of Abyss Watchers still formed messy piles, and blood still iced the floor like macabre frosting. Well, save for Hawkwood standing in the middle of the room, looking as dour as ever with his arms folded. Stilling himself with a deep breath and closed eyes, he warily ambled towards the man, trudging through sticky blood, opening them when he heard the man begin to speak, squeezing his arms closer towards his chest in clear discomfort.

“Ah, I should have known. Well, I've decided to stop running from my fate. Loathe me all you like, I shall take what makes you dragon.”

His cadence and the fraying of his voice mid-speech betrayed the fact Hawkwood, himself, wasn't happy with the turn of events. Then, maybe Adrian's plan would work after all. Clutching the young white branch firmly, he tried to stand tall as the man unsheathed his weapons and approached him slowly. The sight of his predatory prowl, the vice grip on his weapons that surely turned his knuckles bone white, and the haunted looked in glints of warm brown chilled him to the bone. Hate he could deal with, but those eyes suggested nothing of hate but a torn ambition.

“Hawkwood, this is completely unnecessary,” Adrian pleaded, beginning to back up out in panic. This was unseemly for him. He had faced down Aldrich, devourer of Darkmoon Gwyndolin, without so much as flinching at the once-man's formlessness save what appeared to be enlarged bones along the area he still devoured Gwyndolin, using his still living and conscious body as a puppet. Ambition scared him more than hate because hate always got sloppy and eventually sunk like lead in a full tub of water, and ambition produced people like Pontiff Sulyvahn, the very person who threw Aldrich in a room with Gwyndolin for his own personal gain. Hawkwood didn't stop his approach, though the area below his eyes and next to his nose twitched in recognition. Then, he burst forth, charging after Adrian, greatsword slung over his shoulder, but very much poised to kill. Not even granting himself the tension release of a sigh, he ground his teeth together as he broke into a sprint to avoid the incoming former member of the Undead Legion.

But he was just as quick on his feet, and slid in front of Adrian. He didn't have enough time to stop as he nearly collided into the man, who had just enough time to smack Adrian in the face with his dagger, splitting his lip and scratching the tip of his pointy nose. Staggering backwards and yelping in pain, currently oblivious to the blood beading from his wounds, Adrian hit the ground and rolled as Hawkwood produced an underhand horizontal swing at the air where the other man once stood. It would have, at the very least, caused him to lose his footing.

Instead of bouncing on his feet, he knelt with his left knee on the ground, right knee up, and both arms straight, remembering what Orbeck had taught him before his departure. “I yield. I have no desire to fight you,” he shouted, angling his head down as Hawkwood trod up to him and threatened him with the tip of his greatsword, only a hair away from Adrian's neck. His eyes narrowed and hardened in expression and his nostrils flared. “Then give me the dragon stone,” he demanded sternly, never taking his eyes off of him. Hawkwood's form was quite impressive and threatening from that angle. It sent a shiver down Adrian's spine.

“Of course,” he replied with considerable calm, knowing he had to be confident yet compliant if he wanted to avoid the disconcerting experience of being beheaded, “Let me reach back into my rucksack. I promise you I have no tricks up my sleeve. You're the one in control here.” Digging the tip of his blade into the neck, but not pressing hard enough to even break the first layer of skin, Hawkwood replied, “Then do so.” Keeping his eye on the man before him, he reached back for his belongings with his left hand, fumbling a bit before finally reaching into it and pulling up the obvious weight and the dry, rough surface of the stone.

When he produced the stone, Hawkwood's entire countenance changed. The tension and lines in his face nearly vanished as he realized Adrian's sincerity. Sliding his dagger into its sheath, he retrieved it from Adrian as he offered it to him, but the sword on his neck remained. The oppressive pressure made an excitable lump form in his throat that he desperately tried to swallow, and it almost made him forgot his lips were bleeding. He swiped his tongue over the sanguine gummy substance on his lips and fought to smother a chuckle as Hawkwood so intently stared at him and nearly dropped the stone. He felt the tip of the blade quiver, and he closed his eyes, releasing a sharp breath.

“I also came here to give you a sign of my… fondness for you, if you will,” he told the man, feeling tense passion coil dangerously in his loins like an asp. He produced the branch from his right palm, and held it out, now lifting his gaze and craning his head. Hawkwood regarded the branch curiously, slowly retreating the sword to just point it towards his neck. With fluid movement, he sheathed the Farron greatsword. The metallic song of it sliding into place comforted Adrian for a small moment. But the man before him still looked suspicious, even as he took the branch and put both his newly acquired possessions into his own rucksack with considerable confusion.

Given the situation hadn't resolved itself yet, he didn't consider himself off the hook and held up his hands. If Hawkwood really wanted to, he could decide to beat Adrian to an inch of his life. And to be fair, he couldn't blame him for not trusting an assassin who could easily produce throwing knifes from his gear before any sort of reaction was possible. Adrian wouldn't trust someone of his history, either. “I only took the stone out of curiosity, Hawkwood. If you don't believe my motives, then you can take my belongings and search me for hidden weapons,” he added, meeting the man's gaze.

At this angle, it was impossible to not see the bulge that had formed in the front of Hawkwood's trousers that were just as tight as his own. They wore the same armor, after all, save the head gear. Maybe the frayed tension of the situation cross-fired itself as desire, or maybe Hawkwood just really got off on the idea of being in control. And given Adrian's current arousal, he doubted his wasn't also plain as day in the form-hugging Undead Legion armor.

An idea popped into Adrian's head. Past Adrian would have been so proud.

Devious delight bubbled up his chest as he forced his expression to remain frightened as he then suggested, “I could take care of that. I'm already on my knees, and I've known for quite a while you desire me.” He craned his neck up as far as he could, feeling the back of his hat burrow into his nape. When a creeping blush swept up from half-way up Hawkwood's neck to his cheeks, Adrian knew he had struck a chord. Swallowing, Hawkwood then asked, “And why should I trust you?” He half expected the man to produce his blade again, but when he didn't, Adrian replied, grinning widely and running his tongue over his bared teeth in a lascivious gesture, “I'm offering myself up to you, you know. I want you. Do you want me to beg sweetly for your attention? I can do that, you know.”

Hawkwood practically squirmed at the spot, but quickly righted himself before a subtle guileful expression slipped across his lips. 

“You're silver-tongued and far too sure of yourself, Adrian. Your words are meaningless by themselves,” he said tersely, folding his arms and looking sternly down at the man before him. Oh, Adrian had a feeling he understood the implications of the statement, but he decided to play it safe (though not stupid). His throat went dry as he gulped and almost whispered, “Tell me what you would have me do.” Hawkwood closed the distance between the two of them, close enough the man's crotch was at his eye level and close to his face. Adrian now found himself drooling and closing his eyes at the intimation.

He felt the man gently remove his hat and slide it into the bag with the rest of his other belongings. Then, he felt Hawkwood gently pet his hair before his raspy voice, husky with desire, broke the silence, “Use that silver tongue of yours to show me your worth, then I might give you the honor of taking it in your mouth.” Adrian didn't need to be told twice; he opened his eyes and gently nuzzled the man's clothed erection before dragging a tongue against the soft leather. He felt the man's cock twitch and throb in response. Sliding his hands up the backside of Hawkwood and groping the man's deliciously firm and round ass, he began to place kisses and licks to the obvious shape of the head of the man's cock.

Panting, Hawkwood ran his hands through Adrian's hair. “Good, good,” he hissed, pressing his groin closer to the man's face. Groaning, Adrian tongued the elongated shape of the man's member, occasionally mouthing it while he kneaded Hawkwood's buttocks. His own pants were becoming shockingly tight, especially with the position he was, resting on one leg with the other raised up. At risk of making himself more uncomfortable, he shifted until he was on both of his knees. The friction it created in the front of his pants in the search to be more comfortable made him gasp.

Rubbing his cheek against Hawkwood's clothed fully erect penis, Adrian looked up as the man rested his hands on his shoulders. Looking into his eyes, Adrian slid the flat of his tongue across the entire clothed length, then dropped to licking the area of the pants where the man's sac was surely nestled. When he saw Hawkwood close his eyes and pulled at his bottom lip with his teeth, Adrian couldn't help but groan loudly and remove a hand from the man's ass to start working on the laces of his own trousers. Hawkwood's eyes fluttered open and he looked down.

“Did I say you could pleasure yourself?” he asked Adrian, voice husky and not unkind, tenderly smoothing back the other man's hair and then stroking the very top of his left cheek with a leather garbed thumb. Adrian stilled his hand and leaned back slightly to shake his head, returning the strayed hand to its place on the man's ass. While his thumbs traced where the cheeks of the other man's ass met, he lathered at the leather covering Hawkwood's thick member with his tongue. Again, he nuzzled at it, and then brushed against it with his left cheek. 

To his dismay, Hawkwood released his hands from Adrian's shoulders and cleared his throat. “I need you off of me for the next part,” he sighed, giving Adrian a wry smile. Retreating his hands and his face, he watched Hawkwood back off and yank off his chainmail helm. The man's black hair was sweaty, and he shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair before he went on to unbuckle and unlace various components of his armor. Weapons and even his rucksack were discarded onto the ground, much to Adrian's relief. Gloves and the gauntlet came off, then the cape, revealing the curves of the man's muscular arms. He opened up and slid off the vest off his chest, which exposed the chainmail beneath.

When that, too, was removed, Adrian's eyes roved over the man's taut stomach, especially the trail of curly dark hair extending up from below his navel up towards the man's chest. He bit his tongue to prevent himself from whimpering in anticipation as the man bent over to remove his boots and knee caps. The pants soon followed. Now he could admire the man's free legs, which were, unsurprisingly, just as sinewy as the man's arms. Only his small clothes remained, which were barely containing Hawkwood's arousal at this point. 

He heard the man chuckle loudly. “So, I can see you weren't lying when you said you desired me,” he laughed, hooking his thumbs into his loincloth and sliding it off. Staring at Hawkwood's now free cock surrounded by dark curls, he passed his tongue over his lips, and found enough blood still in his head to reply, “Of course I wasn't. I'm not that cruel.” In front of him, Hawkwood bent over and rummaged through his bag. “Would you be opposed to me… changing form?” Adrian heard the man ask him tentatively as he continued to search, his voice trailing and quiet towards the end.

“Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?” Adrian questioned in shock (and truly, he was amazed that he could still be shocked), actually feeling like his cheeks were heating up and blushing. He didn't know if he was into the concept of fellating a dragon-man, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt to try it just this once. Hawkwood stopped moving, hands clutching objects in the sack, and replied, “Probably, if it involves the object I wanted from you.” Under the weight of the question, Adrian found himself nearly breathless. Wetting his lips, he responded with a breathy, “No, then, I”m not. Please do.”

Watching the transformation proved to be strangely enrapturing. Hawkwood curled in on himself, and when he released his body had changed from that of a pale, flushed human, to that of a lean black dragon with a small tail and curving, antler-like horns with a roar, a visual surge of energy, and opening his arms. Where he once had nails, he now had talons. Instead of round pupils, he had slits with no sclera. His smooth skin had been replaced with shiny scales, and he now had an elongated, reptilian snout. It was an interesting sight that Adrian absorbed with exhilaration and giddiness.

But what really caught his attention was what lay between Hawkwood's new legs. There was a considerable vertical bulge that threatened to spill out of what looked like a vent. It looked not unlike the appearance of a swathed erection. If on cue, a thick, dark gray length, a little reddish-purple at the tip, coated with some sort of sticky fluid, popped out. It was thick at the base, though it tapered off to a more reasonably sized head that didn't look too different from the usual mushroom shape he was used to, if only slightly more pointed. Out of the slit oozed drops of clear liquid. Padding over to Adrian, he carefully caressed Adrian's cheeks with the back of his palm with one hand and with the other took hold of the base of his cock and tapped the end on Adrian's lips.

“Now you can suck. Be mindful of your teeth,” he growled lustfully, lisping on the words, unused to a mouth full of sharp fangs. Gazing up at dragon Hawkwood, he smiled before gliding his tongue across the fat head, lapping at the droplets beading at the slit. The liquid had a faint, pleasant aftertaste, and the cock was velvety smooth in texture. Finally, he took the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue across it and gently sucking. Above him, he heard Hawkwood release a throaty moan. The hand once holding Hawkwood's penis now threaded through Adrian's hair and massaged his scalp lightly with his claws.

Now breathing through his nose, Adrian slowly bobbed his head down the length, letting his jaw and throat adjust to its girth. When he reach the base, he wiggled his tongue underneath, prompting Hawkwood to growl again. Though he still had the faintest trace of a human scent, he mostly smelled of fire and soot. Adrian braced a palm against Hawkwood's bare stomach and rubbed it in circles. He expected Hawkwood to be cold like a reptile; instead, he felt feverishly warm, like a coal furnace. The scales were smooth and much softer than he antipated. Then, he slurped as his mouth receded to the tip only to slide his mouth back down to the hilt.

The claws in his hair and the ones that had been stroking his face now clutched his head and he heard Hawkwood's sharp gasp. He gently and shallowly thrust into Adrian's mouth, then pulled back with a squelch. Adrian looked up at Hawkwood, who in turn gazed down, raptly watching his cock disappear between the man's lips. The eye contact and the knowledge Hawkwood lavished it had Adrian moaning around the cock in his mouth. Sighing blissfully against the vibration, Hawkwood bucked his hips forward again, this time much deeper into Adrian's mouth. When it caused Adrian to suddenly gag, Hawkwood softly spoke, “Sorry, sweetheart. Your throat felt delightful.”

With a loud, wet pop, Adrian removed the length from his mouth as saliva leaked off the sides, and said while using a hand to languidly stroke it, “It's okay. You don't have to stop.” His eyes watered slightly, and he planted a sloppy kiss to the tip before he licked and mouthed along the underside of Hawkwood's penis. “You incorrigible tease,” Hawkwood above him hissed. Adrian felt him tug at his hair, and he obediently presented his open mouth as Hawkwood grasped his dick.

He slowly eased it into Adrian's mouth, letting the man adjust. “Gods above, you don't know how good you are,” he crooned, curling strands of Adrian's hair around his fingers, “Your mouth is quite skillful, though I'm sure I haven't seen all of your obscene little tricks yet.” He pulled back, letting Adrian suckle on and tongue the tip before sliding it back into the others mouth, this time more confidently. Other than flattening his tongue under Hawkwood's member and fondling the transformed man's thighs, Adrian moved very little, letting the other take complete control for the time being.

At this point, Adrian was only vaguely away of the pressure of his own want in his pants. The awareness he would normally have became taken over by the desire to please Hawkwood. 

Hawkwood plunged his glistening hard-on back into the man's mouth, giving a few quick thrusts and pulling away to rest the tip on Adrian's lips that were just slightly swollen and reddened from the activity. Little strands of saliva followed Adrian's mouth to the others prick. Sucking it back into his mouth, Adrian bobbed up and down on it with loud, wet noises, occasionally humming as he did so. Each time had Hawkwood growl a little louder and press his claws into Adrian's scalp. “Wolf's blood, that feels amazing,” he gasped, slightly tilting his pelvis forward into the kneeling man's mouth. 

After Adrian's mouth slid back to the tip, Hawkwood gently massaged his scalp and said, “I hate to imply that you're not doing an excellent job, but… ah, I would like to, well, fuck your mouth. So… take a deep breath, and squeeze my left wrist if it's too much.” Nodding, Adrian inhaled sharply and let his jaw fall open. Tightly gripping the sides of the man's head, the dragon rammed his cock down his throat, feeling it initially tighten in protest as it tried to expel the large intruder, but then it relaxed. Adrian felt his own saliva pool out of the ends of his mouth and drip down his jaw and neck. 

Thrusting a few more times into Adrian's hot, wet mouth, Hawkwood sighed, “You're taking it so well. Gods, your throat is magical.” After what felt like minutes of thrusting, Adrian was beginning to feel light headed from the lack of oxygen. Beneath his hands, he felt Hawkwood begin to tense up as he continued to use his mouth like any other slick, tight hole. The twitching on his tongue warned him of the dragon's impending climax. Spurting down the man's throat, Hawkwood let out a boisterous shout that echoed throughout the room. He pulled it out just in time for the last few white drops to spill onto Adrian's lips as the man gasped for air.

Licking the semen off his lips, Adrian noted that it tasted a bit like estus, which wasn't at all surprising. He gave the rapidly softening prick one last lick across the slit to get the last bead, which had Hawkwood cursing. He closed his eyes, released his hold on Adrian, and took a deep breath. With a small amount of awe, Adrian watched the cock of Hawkwood's dragon form retreat back into his body. After regaining his senses and breath and with what looked to be a dragon's version of a smile, Hawkwood grabbed one of Adrian's hands.

“You were perfect. Now, strip and lean up against the wall arse out so I can show you what I can do with my tongue,” he purred, pulling the assassin onto his feet with ease. With no hesitation, Adrian began peeling off his gauntlet and arm wraps, though not before long Hawkwood began assisting him by unclipping the cape and beginning to work on the laces and buckles on the vest. Though his fingers weren't quite as deft as they were before, now with talons instead of flat, short nails, in no time Adrian was bereft of all his equipment. Shivering, Adrian approached the nearest wall, placing his hands against the cold stone above his head and sticking his buttocks out.

He felt the air pressure change behind him and that let him know Hawkwood was close. “Spread your legs out a little,” he crooned, hot breath hitting Adrian's shoulders. Adrian let his head sag downwards as he did as he was told. Brief puffs of air down his spine made him tremble, and suddenly he felt those claws firmly grip and spread his buttocks. Then, he felt the unmistakeably soft, warm, and wet feeling of a tongue (though, this felt longer than a normal human tongue) probe his entrance. Adrian couldn't help but let a rather loud squeal escape his throat at the overwhelmingly pleasant sensation, and he felt his cock twitch. 

“You're a monster, Hawkwood,” he moaned, pressing one side of his face to the wall and breathing through his mouth. By the Darkmoon, that tongue swirling around and probing that circle of muscle felt sinfully good. After he felt the amused thrumming of Hawkwood behind him, Adrian added, “You know, I'd really like you to press those claws into me.” He felt the attention of the dragon's tongue stop briefly, before it returned to gliding across and into the hole. Then, he felt the dragon's talons dig into the bare flesh of his still spread ass cheeks. The delicious pain had him keening and trembling against Hawkwood's mouth.

His fully engorged cock was now throbbing almost constantly between his legs. He knew that he could come untouched if Hawkwood continued to use his tongue, but damn did he want to reach down and stroke himself off. But instead of denying himself the full experience, he relaxed at the feeling of Hawkwood's tongue wriggle in and out. By now, saliva had begin to drip down the split of his buttocks down onto his balls, and that sensation was slowly driving him mad.

The tongue roved down from its previous place all the way to his hanging balls, gliding over them until they were covered and dripping with spit, the back up again. Adrian bucked his hips and then tapped his forehead against the wall. He moaned, “Oh fuck. If you told me when we met I'd have you eating me out like my ass was a goddamned Astoran noble's feast, I would have laughed at you. And probably asked you to prove it.” Abruptly, he felt the flicking and the thrusting of the dragon's pointed tongue stop. If it weren't for the laugh he heard behind him, he would have suspected he managed to offend Hawkwood.

“Now don't be like that, darling. And you said I was a tease,” Adrian whined, swearing that his cock felt heavier between his legs, and wiggled his hips, “Fuck. Don't stop, Hawkwood. Please.” For extra emphasis, he made a few more whimpering noises, and only some of them were exaggerated. He felt the breath of a chuckle against his buttocks as Hawkwood returned to swirling the broad part of his tongue on the ring of muscle between them. Beads of sweat formed around his hairline as he felt his climax near. It burned and pooled in his spine and loins like hot, spilled mulled wine.

“Squeeze your claws into me a little harder. I'm close,” he moaned, tensing the muscles in his calves and curling his toes. Still tending to Adrian with his tongue, Hawkwood pressed his claws into the outer part of the man's buttocks until they pierced the skin. Hot, heavenly pain shot up his spine and he swore for a second he went cross-eyed. Then, he felt his entire body grow rigid before, with a stuttering piercing moan, he splattered the wall with several sprays his cum. The powerful orgasm left him dazed as Hawkwood removed his fingers and mouth from his behind. 

He could now feel drops of blood flowing down the curvature of his ass, and he couldn't care less. Hawkwood wrapped his scaled arms around Adrian's waist, licking between his shoulder blades as he hugged the man from behind. “I got you. Mmm, I think I got a lot more out of it than you did, sweetheart,” he whispered into Adrian's ear before nipping at his nape. Laughing wearily, Adrian replied, his throat feeling a bit hoarse, “You underestimate how much I enjoy being on my knees, and I happen to think your tongue's a lot more sinful than mine.” Behind him, Hawkwood rested his head sideways between his shoulders and sighed happily.

“I apologize for my initial hostility,” dragon-Hawkwood said, his yawning causing him to quake. Adrian reached behind him and stroked his lover's back. “Please don't do that again,” he said with a voice thick with worry, “I'm not sure I can bear losing you again, especially after this. Please stay with me. I'd never want to hurt you, Hawkwood.” He turned in Hawkwood's arms, and looked him in the eyes. Though his lover was still in dragon form and thus didn't have all the same facial muscles for more nuanced emoting, Hawkwood still looked like his expression softened up.

“Of course.”

Hawkwood embraced him tightly, and burrowed his snout in the crook of Adrian's neck.

Eventually, Adrian dressed, and they shared a bedroll out by the Keep Outskirts bonfire under the light of a black eclipsed sun, falling asleep tangled in one another, Hawkwood still in dragon form.


	12. Fill Us With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian and Hawkwood take on the Twin Princes. Also, smut involving estus happens. Yes, you read that correctly.
> 
> This is the quote unquote 'real' chapter 11 as far as plot progression goes, by the by.

For a moment, Adrian almost forgot that he had shared a bedroll with Hawkwood the day before, and fallen asleep with him wrapped around his back side around the Farron Keep perimeter bonfire. The arm draped around him keeping him close and the body behind him keeping him warm were more than welcome new sensations. In all his years literally fucking around in Dragon School, he hadn't had a single morning after, either because the sex hadn't occurred in the bed or he was ushered away long before dawn by temporary lovers. Now, he knew what he had missed: the feathery soft feeling of another person's breath against the skin, the gentle noises of a lover's sound slumber, the comforting heat of another body. Not being someone else's shame for once thrilled him. 

Carefully, he turned over, still in Hawkwood's one-handed embrace in order to not disturb him, to get a good look at him, to ensure himself it was real. If the lingering musky smell of sweat and sex were any indication, last night (or whatever time it was) had happened. Hawkwood's face looked so serene, with his eyes closed and his brow and lips relaxed. Smiling faintly to himself, he cupped the man's upright cheek and caressed it with his thumb, noting the soft texture of his skin and his warmth. Right after he slid his hand down to place it on Hawkwood's left shoulder, the sleeping man scrunched up his face, dragged Adrian closer to his body, and then opened his left eye, then his right. His eyes focused on him for a moment before his lips tugged into a small affectionate smile.

“You're awake,” Adrian said, pressing a kiss to Hawkwood's nose and running his right hand down along the frame of the other man's body. Removing his arm from around Adrian and sitting up just enough to stretch, Hawkwood replied somewhat groggily, “That's what I assume, yes.” He rubbed his eyes, then raised an eyebrow as Adrian sat up with him and began peppering his neck with kisses. “Your affection is much appreciated, Adrian, and as much as I'd like to linger here to enjoy more of it, we both need a bath,” Hawkwood said softly, petting Adrian's hair. Adrian climbed out of the confines of the blanket, and after casting a spell that brightly illuminated while standing, looked over his body with his eyes squinted at the brilliant light. 

Tapping along his body where there were scratch marks, some of which were dark red and scabbed, he produced a thoughtful noise. He wanted those marks to stay there forever. “Those'll be gone next time I use a bonfire or drink estus,” he stated almost sadly, brushing his hand over where he had been bitten and cringing at how tender it was now. Darkly chuckling in his throat, Hawkwood stood up and began gathering up the pieces of his armor. “Well, dear,” he said, looking up at Adrian and patting the side of the other man's face with a deadpan expression, “You can get always get more later. Now, help me with my armor so we can head back to Firelink to wash ourselves off in a place without worrying about grotesquely large crabs?” 

Clicking his tongue and smirking, Adrian waited for the man to pull his small clothes and pants up before helping with snapping the iron knee caps in place. “In case you didn't know, I haven't brought Lothric's Cinders back yet. I'd appreciate your help, but it's not required,” Adrian said while he was still on his knees from putting on the knee caps as Hawkwood put on his boots. To himself, he thought he must have looked awfully ridiculous naked, on his knees, for something explicitly nonsexual. Running his fingers through Adrian's hair and wrapping his fingers around strands, Hawkwood replied warmly, “Of course I'll help you.” 

Scooping up the chainmail chest piece and the vest, Adrian shood and handed it over to Hawkwood. As Hawkwood slipped the chainmail over his head and snaked his arms through the holes, Adrian cleared his throat and then explained, “Lothric's not even the main threat. It's his brother, Lorian, you have to worry about. Mostly. He's a tough warrior type. Apparently slayed some demon prince. I've died more times than I'd like to admit.” He began helping Hawkwood with the various buckles and harnesses on the vest. Despite the intimacy of the act and how close his body pressed to Hawkwood, he found himself surprisingly calm.

Once that was done, he let Hawkwood pick up his own chainmail helm, gloves, and gauntlet as Adrian went to start on slipping on his own pair of pants. “I'd say I can't believe you're not wearing anything under your trousers, but that would be a horrendous lie,” Hawkwood said dryly behind him with a laugh. Scoffing as he tied up his laces and then slipped on his boots, Adrian replied, “Have you ever gotten your trousers wet and walked for miles with damp underwear? Hell, you don't even have to have gotten drenched, you could just have a really sweaty ass. You end up chafing terribly.” He hadn't even needed to ask Hawkwood and here he was, putting on the knee caps for him and gazing up at him with an equally perturbed and entertained expression.

After helping him with his chest armor, Hawkwood went off to equip the sheaths of his weapons on either side of his hips. “Anyways, the real annoying part is,” Adrian sighed as he wrapped his hands in leather, “Lothric uses some kind of miracle to teleport Lorian across the arena, as Lorian apparently doesn't have much use of his legs. Oh, and Lothric can resurrect his brother. It makes things rather difficult to predict. Hence my myriad of deaths.” Sliding on his iron gauntlet, he went to clip on his own weapons onto his pants, set on his hat, and threw his rucksack across one of his shoulders. Seeing Hawkwood had coiled the bedroll together, put it in his bag, done much the same, he offered Hawkwood his leather clad right hand.

“To Firelink Shrine, then?” he asked as he beamed eagerly at Hawkwood. He found himself grinning impossibly wider when the other man didn't even hesitate to take his hand. Gazing at him with fondness in his eyes, Hawkwood gave him a single, quick nod. Adrian led them forward, still grinning like an idiot and in disbelief that instead of waking up at Firelink Shrine screaming in anguish (either because he had died or had killed), he was holding Hawkwood's hand. With Hawkwood standing to his right, he held out his left hand over the coiled sword in routine, and, together, they vanished, reappearing in the dark shrine.

They were barely used to their new surroundings before Hawkwood was tugging them up the stairs to the archway out to the Cemetery of Ash. “Do I smell that offensive?” Adrian laughed, following behind quickly. He squinted his eyes as they made their way into the bright light outside instead of the deep, warm tones of the eclipse, a rather clear indication that this Firelink Shrine existed somewhere separate, as though he hadn't figured that out from his time in the Untended Graves. At least that it meant they had actually slept at night and woken up during the day. Oblivious to Adrian's thoughts, Hawkwood continued leading them down, following the path to Iudex Gundyr's arena and ignoring the unaware Hollows along the way. 

Together they splashed across the small pond of water surrounding the bonfire in that arena, only pausing and pulling from each other to slice through blue robe garbed Hollows that stood no chance against one, let alone against the both of them working in tandem. Much of the same went on until they went to the deepest part of the lying water: run up hill, turn corner, tread through water, kill chattering Hollows. Once they both made it to standing on dry land in front of the body of water, Hawkwood was practically tearing off his armor. “You do have something to dry us off, right?” Adrian asked, peeling off his own set swiftly beside Hawkwood, setting the bits he took off in a pile on a flat boulder. 

“Of course I do, in the bag,” Hawkwood scoffed, now completely nude and carefully entering the water with a clutched bar of lye soap. Now free of his own armor, Adrian soon followed with his own bar into a deeper section of the water. Now that the bonfire had erased signs of last night's 'activities,' he could thoroughly clean every inch of his body. Turning his back to Hawkwood, not out of any sense of embarrassment but more out of acknowledgment that seeing him all lathered up would likely send a jab of lust through his loins, he began to wet lather his body up, paying special attention to his armpits and his pelvic region. After feeling satisfied with how much soap was on his body, he turned around to face Hawkwood (who was too busy washing himself to notice) and waded into the deepest part to submerge his head.

He pulled his head out of the water, listening to the plip plopping of water as it poured off his wet mass of hair, down his face, and into the water. Soon, he lathered up his hair and scrubbed his scalp. Once he was finished, Adrian submerged his head again to get all the soap out. He wiped the water out of his eyes after he was done, and caught Hawkwood's glance as he tread over to Hawkwood's rucksack to retrieve the towel. “Only one?” Adrian asked innocently, ambling to Hawkwood's side. It was hard not to stare at his dripping, sinewy body, especially that trail from his pubic hair up a little past his navel. Wrapping the towel around Adrian's shoulders and upper shoulders with a quick squeeze, he replied, “Yes. I don't mind sharing.” 

When Adrian dropped his mouth to protest, Hawkwood craned his head and stood on the very tip of his toes to meet Adrian's open lips with his own. “There's more of you than me, seeing as you're taller and have a long, thick mane of hair,” he replied affectionately, nuzzling Adrian's right shoulder. Adrian couldn't help but let a smile overtake his face. He dried himself off, except for his hair which he just gently patted, and handed the somewhat damp towel over to Hawkwood. Quickly drying off, Hawkwood folded the used towel neatly and shoved it into his rucksack. Even now, he looked so tense, and there were certainly a few knots in his back that could use some loosening up. He'd have to attend to that later, and the thought of a 'later' filled him with childlike glee. When Hawkwood leaned over to pick up his leathers, Adrian felt a wave of desire course through his entire body.

Wrapping his hands around Hawkwood's torso, which was now becoming more vertical as he began to stand erect, Adrian suggested in the most sultry tone he could command, “How about you show me those swordplay techniques.” No doubt, Hawkwood could feel Adrian's growing arousal pressing up against the back of his thighs. He grinned as Hawkwood stood up fully with his armor in his hands and paused, as if fully considering the lewd proposition. “As tempting as that is, I would prefer to have enough energy to fight Lothric with you competently,” he replied kindly, briefly sliding the fingers of one hand in between Adrian's before stepping into his own trousers.

“How sensible,” Adrian replied humorously, kissing the nape of Hawkwood's neck before untangling himself and walking to his belongings. He slid into his pants, trying his best not to further arouse himself hiking the waistband past the curvature of his buttocks and his crotch. With deft movements, he laced up the leather before sitting beside his bag and slipping on his boots. Over at his side, Hawkwood had begun to buckle on the iron knee caps. “Want me to help you with the trickier bits again?” he asked Hawkwood, digging a comb out of his bag to work out the tangles at the ends of his hair.

With a fond look out of the corners of his eyes, Hawkwood nodded, allowing Adrian to fashion on the other one. Without asking, Hawkwood returned the gesture, and in relative silence, they repeated their earlier motions of helping each other put on their armor. The act was so mundane yet intimate that Adrian felt his heart swell and flutter. “Did you do this for other people in the 'Legion?'” he questioned Hawkwood earnestly after they had all their armor on. Placing a kiss to Adrian's relatively smooth chin, Hawkwood replied, “Yes, I did, but it almost never had the same connotations as this.” 

The words burrowed into his heart and made him feel incredibly flustered. Adrian still couldn't wrap his head around someone else feeling like he was anything more than a distraction, a temporary thrill. He could deal with naked lust easily, but this disarmed him completely. Unlike Hawkwood, he had no experience with the romantic relationships. At any minute now, he felt like he could dissolve entirely. Not sure if his face was giving away the range of emotions he felt at the moment, he simpered at Hawkwood coyly, then cleared his throat.

“Alright, we better make our way back to Firelink. From there, I know which bonfire we need to warp to for the quickest way to the prince. Can't leave him waiting,” Adrian said as he slid off the boulder and stood up. Once Hawkwood was on his feet, they began to walk together back to the Shrine in comfortable silence. Adrian still couldn't believe he'd found someone that hadn't thrown him out the morning after, not that he was complaining. Though, he supposed it was only fitting that someone with his unique brand of irritating would end up with someone dry and thoroughly sarcastic. Certainly, Hawkwood had once brandished his words to sting.

But Adrian hadn't minded, and in fact completely deflected their original intent. He was good at that; it served him well in Dragon School when he was surrounded by people thoroughly convinced of their superiority (particularly intellectual and magical). That, and he found Hawkwood's sardonic, tortured nature pretty alluring, even if it had been a bit thickly applied at times. 

When they stepped back into the dim interior of Firelink, Adrian gave one of Hawkwood's hands a quick, firm squeeze. Hawkwood pivoted around to face him. “I… don't know what comes after Lothric. I feel like I ought to tell you right now that I'm not linking the Flame,” Adrian whispered, carefully watching his new lover. And, of course, Hawkwood's eyes widened, and he paled, turning a little green like he did when he first saw Adrian in mostly Undead Legion armor. Before Hawkwood could open his mouth, Adrian tenderly cradled the other man's face and said in a low voice, “When the First Flame finally dies, it won't be dark for long. I'm not betraying anyone or anything. Flames will appear and flourish anew, just like at the start of the Age of Fire. The Fire Keeper told me this when I brought her the long forbidden eyes. It's supposed to be a secret between the two of us but… keeping you 'in the dark'” he laughed, closing his eyes and leaning down to touch the tip of his nose to Hawkwood's, “would be a mistake, given I care for you.”

Though he looked a little confused, Hawkwood nodded, and settled a hand over the one on his face for a brief moment. “I trust you,” Hawkwood replied, looking Adrian dead in the eye and taking the other man's hands to nip gently at his gloved fingertips. Then, Hawkwood let his hand go, and started down the steps to the ash pit in which the bonfire sat fully kindled. Adrian followed, and nervously tapped his fingers against his thigh as he stood before the bonfire. Tilting his head towards Hawkwood, Adrian asked, looking him in the eyes, “Okay, you ready?” Already, Adrian felt his heart race with anticipation of the battle. 

“As ready as I'll ever be,” Hawkwood replied, extending his right hand to his side to delicately catch Adrian's left hand. Grinning, Adrian gently squeezed the other man's hand while he hovered his right hand over the bonfire. 

The bonfire whisked them away from the darkness of the Shrine and into the unnerving warm light of the eclipse, outside the entrance to the Grand Archives. To their right, there was a small set of stairs up into a building with a lift, and of course straight ahead was the ground floor of the Grand Archives, the doors wide open, revealing the dimly lit tiled interior with massive bookcases. On either side of the path towards the building, there were various statues of what appeared to be scholars intermingled with strange, robed serpent-men that looked nothing like the ones encountered at Archdragon Peak. Thick ivy snaked across the small courtyard and up the stone walls of the archives. As he did when he first laid eyes upon the place, Adrian wondered if, in its zenith, if scholars regular flocked in and out of the building.

“From here, we'll go right and take a lift up to the apex of the archives. After that, we go right, and we'll have to fight a number of very tough soldiers on the bridge, including four Lothric knights, in order to reach the princes. With the two of is, it should be relatively simple,” Adrian explained, gesticulating with his hands, especially in the direction of the elevator. Unsheathing his greatsword with his right hand, and the specialized dagger with his left, Hawkwood affirmed, “Understood. Lead the way.” He lowered his eyebrows and creased them together, making him look all the more intense and resolute in the fire-like luminosity.

They took the elevator up in relative silence, standing close to each other as the chains creaked and clanked as it brought them up.

The room it led out into was decently lit, both from the plethora of candles in the interior as well as the light brought in from large arches out, with a tall, polygonal domed ceiling. A well-worn red rug led to one of the serpent-man statues, surrounded by chairs and a railing. Books and pages were scattered all over the floor. To their left were tables strewn with candelabras and old, dusty books. And, of course, to their right was a set of stairs, with two paths of lit candles, that led to a bridge.

Adrian's stride exit was much more confident than Hawkwood's tentative amble out. Immediately, the view of the spire was frame by the stairs up onto the bridge. At this height, the sky appeared much more red and orange, and the strange, spindly plant-like Pilgrim Butterflies were all that much closer. Wind howled across the area and billowed their capes. “Alright, the easiest way to do this is for each of us to take a side and deal with them one at a time. They have, ah, hell, what do you call them, wooden barricades protecting the soldiers. At the same time, we can't take too long because the Lothric Knights patrol the bridge, and they're tough sons of bitches on their own, and dealing with all four at once is ludicrous,” Adrian clarified, reaching out to gently squeeze the side of his upper left arm. He then gave him a few pats and a confident, if asymmetrical smile. 

Hawkwood waited beside him as he waved his staff over his twinblades. A chime, and then there were glowing azure crystals jutting out of the metal of the blades that now twinkled the same hue. Gesturing with his right blade, pointing it up towards the stairs in front of him, Adrian bellowed, “Let's show Lothric he can't escape fate! I'll take the right.” Without so much as waiting, he darted up the stairs and towards the right, clasping both of his currently crystal augmented twinblades. Adrian could hear the fabric of his cape flap as he circled around one of the barricades and began rapidly stabbing one very surprised Hollow soldier with a small round shield and sword. Its partner barely had time to react as the Hollow died with a dry, rasping groan.

Across from him, he could hear the sounds of wet splatting as Hawkwood slammed his greatsword down on a Hollow ahead and to the left. After swiftly strafing around the other round shield Hollow and stabbing it in the back to its death, he lunged for a Hollow simply wielding a sword that had broken its barricade and rushed towards him. It sprayed the ground and his leather with blood. As he pulled his sword from its body, he heard a bolt whir past his head. Straight ahead, he watched Hawkwood swing the sword into the shoulders of a stringy Hollow aiming a crossbow. Its focus was on Hawkwood.

Meaning he was looking at the wrong Hollow.

Adrian instinctively rolled forward and felt a bolt hit his right collarbone. Though it didn't stick in, its impact had hurt and it was now setting the leather it hit on fire. Cursing, he quickly slapped it out before it could engulf his armor and hurt him, then charged at the Hollow, ducked between two of the barricades and just barely out in the open, in a serpentine pattern before bringing both of his blades back and cleanly lopping off its head in two fluid motions. Still behind one of the wooden boards, he peaked around it and saw the feet of two more Hollows with crossbows. 

Both of them went down surprisingly easy. Up close, they found it difficult to hit him, and only ended up succeeding in setting some of the barricades not broken by combat on fire. Still ahead of him, he could see Hawkwood standing over more dead Hollows and panting. There wasn't much distance to make between the two of them. Now they were at the foot of the stairs that the Lothric Knight patrol would surely descend down.

He could hear the stomping of the knights from here, and the clinking of their plate armor as they marched. Hawkwood must have heard too, because now he was looking in the direction of the stairs of up where the twin princes lie.

As soon as he saw the top of two sets of helmets, he turned his head to look at Hawkwood and raised his left hand. As soon as he got confirmation only two of them were heading down, he formed a fist and pointed. He raced up the first set of stairs and got a good view of both of the Lothric Knights heading their way: knights set with a greatshield in one hand and a halberd in the other. Closer to the building, he could just barely see the top of a truly great greatsword moving away from them.

Adrian closed the distance, and quickly dodged the knight's attempt at jabbing him with the spike on the end of the axe head. He had time to slice into a gap between the breastplate and pauldron before the knight pivoted and bashed their shield into Adrian. It staggered him briefly backwards right onto his buttocks and made him loudly yelp. His rump smarted with pain. Snarling, he violently kicked the feet of the knight out from under it and couldn't help by whoop as they landed onto their back with a loud bang. As the knight flailed to get righted up in their heavy armor, Adrian raised both of his blades above his head and jammed them in the angled joint between the helm and chest.

When the gurgling stopped and he could now hear the sounds of heavy running in his direction, he yanked out his blades and stood up. Of course, he had attracted the attention of the knight with the ultra greatsword, and it had stopped their charge only to imbue it with twinkling divine energy. Adrian had but a moment to watch Hawkwood dodging a sword swing of the other knight out of the corner of his eyes before the Lothric Knight in front of him rushed towards him.

And by the Darkmoon, was the sight of a metal clad foe with hateful incandescent red eyes racing towards you with one of those man-sized swords menacing.

Side-stepping the first attempted stab was easy enough, but he barely had time to shuffle out of the way when the knight followed up with an overhead swing. The windup between the attacks gave him enough time to get in a few rapid horizontal slashes but that was it. Any more and he would risk being flattened and killed. And my, wouldn't that just be swell if he died here with Hawkwood because he got careless.

But he wouldn't get careless, neither here or now.

Gritting his teeth, Adrian danced around the knight and occasionally leaped forward and back in order to goad them into prematurely swinging their sword and missing. Eventually, the Lothric Knight thought they had an opening and tried cleaving Adrian with their great blade. The motion alone of both arms tilting backwards had alerted him, so by the time gravity had the blade thunk onto the ground, he forced his right twinblade through one of the glowing eyes. A savage snarl spilled across his lips as he dragged the blade out and watched the knight crumple onto their knees and face-plant.

Turning towards the left, Adrian watched Hawkwood lifted his greatsword from the back of a similarly lifeless Lothric Knight. “I'm not sure if I should commend you for your ability to improvise or be silently thankful you never drew your blade on me,” Hawkwood clucked with a straight-faced expression as he walked to Adrian's side. A little bit amused, Adrian lifted an eyebrow and gave him a cunning grin. Leaning slightly towards Hawkwood, he replied, “That's an awful amount of words to say I'm a dirty fighter, especially coming from a man that once knocked me off my feet.” He slanted his body closer and inclined slightly in order to whisper in Hawkwood's ear, “Perhaps you should teach me some discipline sometime.”

Now grinning lopsided, he backed away slightly and chuckled as Hawkwood spluttered in agitation. Instead of responding, he sighed and began bolting up the steps. Adrian, whose grin softened into a simple crude smile, followed behind. The building in front of them was massive, built of stone, and had engravings up and down the sides of the three pillars of Lothric (the location, not the prince). Of course, the teal stained glass was also impressive and beautiful to look at.

They stepped inside into the dimmer lit corridor to the bright, open, deceptively empty room. The floor was tiled stone, with a quite familiar dilapidated red rug leading down the center that stopped just shy of the other room. Like other areas of Lothric Castle, on the walls, there were states of beheaded knights holding their heads with candles at their feet. When they were almost at the room Lothric and Lorian waited, Adrian noticed a glowing white sign on the ground. He felt himself beaming so wide his cheeks were in pain.

Sirris remembered.

Kneeling down, he touched it, activating its summoning directions. Within moments, a woman in pale armor and a veil, taller than Hawkwood yet shorter than Adrian still, appeared where the white soapstone sign once was. Bowing before him, she addressed Adrian, “I am glad to be summoned for your service again, Darkmoon Knight Adrian.” Then, she turned her gaze towards Hawkwood. “I see you have brought additional support this time,” she commented with faint mirth. “I intend to not die this time, I assure you,” Adrian replied drolly. Hawkwood kept quiet.

He reapplied the crystalline spell to his twinblades, and watched Sirris bless her estoc with purple Darkmoon light. “Sorry if I forgot to mention it,” Adrian apologized to Hawkwood after they were done buffing their swords, “but ahhh, Sirris pledged herself as a knight to me. It's kind of a long story, but let's just say I helped her out with a lot of… 'problems.'” If it weren't for the weapons he was brandishing, Adrian would have done the air quotes. Sirris was now standing in front of them with her back to the wall, politely trying to ignore their conversation.

“I suppose you two have probably seen each other at Firelink Shrine. How about a formal introduction? Sirris, this is Hawkwood of Farron. I don't know your opinion of him, but he's quite dear to me,” Adrian gestured with open palms up towards Hawkwood and grinned, “And Hawkwood, this is Sirris of the Sunless Realms, former servant of the Divinity.” He then did the same towards Sirris. Looking between them, he smiled.

“Honored to be of acquaintance,” Sirris addressed the man, bowing her head slightly. Though Adrian doubted they had never interacted, their opinion of each other, given their relatively neutral expression, they must have been pretty indifferent to one another. Giving her a quick nod of the head, Hawkwood responded, “Likewise.”

“Anyways, Lothric hasn't brought his royal Lord of Cinder arse back to his rightful throne, so I suggest we go in,” Adrian urged after a pause, turning to Sirris, then Hawkwood and gesturing with his head towards the room.

Their arena was enormous, almost as wide as it was tall, with a torn rug leading to a platform with what looked to be a pulpit… but it had a roof to it. Adrian had no clue if that what the object was, but he couldn't explain much of anything about the room, from the feathers littered on the ground, to the array of chairs on the far sides of the rooms. 

The telltale noise of metal scraping metal as Lorian crawled, then the whirring noise of holy magic of Lothric told him that the battle had begun, and to stay on alert.

Lorian, clad in dark brass armor and at least twice as high as Adrian just on his knees, had been teleported behind and to the side by Lothric, still on the tall platform on the far side of the room. Adrian had just enough time to roll forward and slightly to the side as Lorian swung his enormous glowing sword. It was so large he could feel it disturb the air above him as he righted himself, and the heat it gave off made him feel feverish. Sirris took up the opposite side from Adrian and Hawkwood moved to stand behind the towering prince. Once they got in a few swings, Lorian vanished in a beam of golden light that jutted up from the ground.

A large circle of similarly shimmery flaxen light emerged to the far left side. Lorian, hiking himself up on his knees, raised his greatsword, the holy energy it was channeling twinkling and jingling. Adrian knew to get the hell out of the way, and quick. No words were uttered when all three of them rushed to get out of Lorian's line of sight as he forcefully smacked the ground with the sword, sending a line of brilliant energy sparking up and across the room. At least there had been enough time that none of them ended up scathed.

Adrian barreled forward towards Lorian, aware of the sound of Sirris's and Hawkwood's more cautious approaches on either side of him. Lorian, despite the crown-like helm on his head blocking his view, seemed to recognize he was coming towards him; with a malevolent growl, he slung his sword diagonally once, then again when Adrian dodged. A pause in Lorian's blows allowed Adrian to sneak in a set of coordinated slashes.

Within seconds, Lorian winked out of existence in a column of light before reappearing behind him, armor clinking against each other as the prince thrust the sword right into Adrian's back. He staggered forward and the flesh that it had struck bloomed with pain. Clenching his teeth and weapons, he swung his body around and crouched under an incoming horizontal slash. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see Sirris jabbing Lorian in his right side repeatedly with her estoc. Adrian backed off Lorian, who was now attempting to slice at Sirris, in order to take a quick drink of his estus.

It was then that both Adrian and Hawkwood struck at Lorian's turned back only to dart away. Again, in a radiant flash of light, he disappeared, only to emerge behind Hawkwood. Snarling, the prince slung his sword horizontally twice, apparently hitting Hawkwood only with the first, given his sharp cry of pain, followed by nimble maneuvering to avoid the second. Because Lorian was distracted, both Adrian and Sirris sought to use that time to attack. Both of them utilized rapid moves, enough that the combination of the two stunned Lorian.

Neither of them had to tell Hawkwood to take advantage of the situation; he unceremoniously plunged his sword into Lorian's neck and watched him crumple onto hands, then onto the ground.

And of course, with that, Lothric teleported to his brothers side, cast a spell to restore Lorian to life, and swung his spindly arms around his stronger brother's neck as Lorian began the stand. Embers seemed to dance across their form; the red-orange-yellow glow of fire slithered across the both of them. Small bright white gold orbs of magic shot out from Lothric's hand, and they swirled around and aimed for the princes' adversaries. As long as he didn't stay in one place, Adrian found them relatively simple to avoid. Lorian, who seemed to have no issue with his brother hanging on his back, lunged towards Sirris who was storming towards him. 

She quickly dodge him and got a good two stabs in before the twin princes vanished. Behind Sirris, the two of them reappeared. Raising one of his hands, Lothric shot forth a light colored magical spear from his palm towards Sirris; it reminded Adrian of the Soul Spear spell, except it was clearly some kind of faith-based miracle, not the product of studiousness. It collided with her and she grunted in agony. Coming up from behind the twin princes, Hawkwood hurled his sword vertically down the back of Lorian, and likely Lothric. As Lorian began to turn to face Hawkwood, Sirris pulled out her own estus flask and sipped the orange fluid.

Not one for missing attacks of opportunity, Adrian rushed in to swirl his blades into the back of Lothric and Lorian. He only managed to sneak in a set before the duo teleported again completely across the room again. Again, Lorian raised himself and his sword, enveloped with bright holy energy, looking straight towards Hawkwood. All three had enough time to get out of the way and avoid getting hit by the eventual slam and spell cascading across the floor. While the elder prince hefted his sword off the ground, the three contenders closed in from different sides.

But it was Hawkwood's whirlwind of a swing that caused Lorian to fall to the ground.

Shrieking in pain and panic, Lothric pulled himself off his brother, and he sat up on his haunches to pray. He was going to raise Lorian again, Adrian grumbled in his head. Muttering to himself in frustration about how contemptible the entire fight with the twin princes was, Adrian ran forward to smack the fragile-looking brother with his twinblades, in conjunction with Sirris's and Hawkwood's swings, before quickly rolling far away. The other two halted their attacks soon after, seeing Adrian's caution, and backed away. 

The prayer exploded into a sphere of holy energy that also brought back Lorian, again. Raising himself on his knees, Lorian waited for his frailer brother to curl his arms around his neck before returning to his assault on the three intruders. This time around, Lorian decided to focus on Adrian, and scraped the ground with his greatsword in front of him, clearly missing him. Moments later, flames began to shoot out from it and singed some of Adrian's armor. Yelping at the sensation, Adrian backstepped away in anticipation of another blow.

Meanwhile, Lothric unleashed more of those homing pale gold masses of light, and Adrian's two aiding battle companions dove in to swipe at the twin princes' backsides. Even before Lorian turned to counterattack, they had anticipated it, and ducked right under his first onslaught. Hawkwood was just a tad too slow to avoid the second slash, which sent him back into a pillar. Thankfully, he was still alive; Adrian could see him twitching in discomfort. He groaned in agony, wobbling as he got to his feet and took a swig of estus.

All that time, Sirris made sure to keep Lorian's attention by aggressively poking at him before he could turn to lurch towards Hawkwood. Now on his feet, Hawkwood hefted his sword horizontally and loosely zig zagged the blade down Lothric's back. Adrian slowly approached from the side and watchedthe two juggle the attention of the princes. Whenever Lorian turned his back, the other would begin their set of attacks.

Yet again, Lorian dropped onto his chest, and Lothric crawled off of him. Because he had no intent of dealing with another round, Adrian stormed forward, rapidly whacking at the kneeling form of the younger prince, still tragically in his swaddling clothes, to never fulfill his destiny as King Lothric. Hawkwood and Sirris swiftly sprinted to Adrian, though they weren't quite quick enough on their feet to deliver any hits. Before Lothric could complete his spell, he collapsed due to Adrian's blade barrage, mortally wounded. 

With blood foaming from his mouth, the pallid, sickly prince gasped, “Mark my words, Ashed One. You remain among the accursed.”

Their bodies, excepting Prince Lothric's head, turned to cinder.

It was so sudden that Hawkwood and Sirris stood and stared with rapidly blinking eyes.

As soon as Adrian obtained Lothric's Cinders (guess it really wasn't that much different from taking the ears of invaders as proof of concord) and placed them in his rucksack, he sheathed his weapons and smoothly bound over to Hawkwood. He embraced Hawkwood, who had just recently unequipped his weapons, and planted an ardent, close-lipped kiss to his lips. The two stood and kissed, grasping each other's head and body with their hands. Both of them nearly forgot about Sirris until they heard the clearly unexpected sound of the clearing of her throat. They pried themselves apart, with Hawkwood flushing and Adrian letting out a bubbly laugh.

“Forgive me, but I must be on my way. It was good to see you again, Adrian. Fighting by both of your sides was a pleasure. Blessing of the moon to both of you,” Sirris bid to both of them cordially. She tilted her head in acknowledge as both men bowed, though as per usual Adrian did it with considerable flair. Having fulfilled her duty as a summon, she then vanished.

Almost immediately, Adrian launched himself back at Hawkwood and began undoing the straps and such on his armor while kissing and biting at his lips. Chuckling at Adrian's enthusiasm, Hawkwood said against his lover's lips, “Is this where you really want to do this?” After sliding his tongue in and out of the other man's mouth, Adrian broke away and tore off the cape and iron pauldron and gauntlet. “Oh, I'm quite sure,” he responded huskily, looking at the other man's eyes which had widened pupils, “I've been waiting since this morning.” Growling wantonly, he began sucking on Hawkwood's neck as he unlaced the leather vest. He could feel Hawkwood's soundless gasps vibrating in his throat and his pulse racing. It wasn't long before the sensation of Hawkwood sliding his hands down to cup his ass had him even more desperate.

Hawkwood ended up backing them up into a pillar. “You're very eager,” he panted as Adrian parted his vest and squeezed at his biceps. The vest ended up being thrown to the ground in a messy, haphazard pile with the other articles of clothing. Adrian bared his teeth in a viciously immodest and immodestly vicious grin before replying, “Of course I am. I'm making up for lost time when we should have been fucking senseless. Once wasn't enough.” Running his tongue across his teeth, Adrian ground up against Hawkwood as he felt the man squeeze his buttocks hard. “Are you going to finish taking off my armor?” Hawkwood purred, releasing his grip on the other man. 

“Ohhh, yes,” Adrian answered, drawing his face back to a more neutral one as he focused on getting rid of the remaining armor. Once they were both naked, Adrian trailed his hand down the front of Hawkwood's chest and propped himself up against the pillar using his other hand by placing it above the man's head. Crooning while he pressed a leg up and in between Hawkwood's, which prompted a gasp, Adrian requested in the other man's ear, voice honey smooth, “I'd like to be on the floor for what I have in mind.” 

Arching an eyebrow, Hawkwood obeyed, lowering himself on the ground and propping himself up on his elbows. There was a faint flush on his cheeks, clearly still not used to the sort of attention. His cock laid against the crease between his thigh and groin, half-hard and jerking slightly. Adrian took a moment to wrap his left hand around his right arm as he tapped his right index finger against his upper cheeks as he admired the view before him. Lowering himself over Hawkwood, with both hands on each side of the other man's head, Adrian smirked, the tip of his nose touching Hawkwood's, and said, “Mm, I think I want to take you up on that offer right now. Think you can handle me?”

Wrapping his arms around Adrian's neck, Hawkwood replied, “I kept up with you at the mausoleum, didn't I?” Then, he arched his body up and kissed Adrian's lips. Adrian shuddered at the sensation of feeling the man's swelling cock slide against his stomach, and returned the kiss. Moaning, he pulled himself away from Hawkwood, then straddled the man's hips. With his right hand, he began stroking Hawkwood's cock to full hardness. He watched the other man's eyes shut in bliss, and his chest heave as he let out a long, stammering breath.

His free hand fumbled through his nearby rucksack, pulling out the glowing estus flask with a cunning grin. When he stopped sliding his loose fist up and down Hawkwood's length to open the flask for use, Hawkwood snapped his eyes open. As his eyes came across the flask that Adrian was holding, he quirked an eyebrow. “What are you going to use that for?” he questioned with a bemused look. Humming as he brought their cocks together in hand, Adrian simply waggled his eyebrows in response. Hawkwood gave him a challenging look and pursed his lips.

“You're going to get us both sticky,” he protested, flopping completely down on his back and folding his arms up against his bare chest. His cock, however, remained harder than steel, and leaked from the tip. It sure was betraying him, Adrian mused. Shrugging, Adrian replied while he started slowly bringing his hand up and down both of their lengths, “Well, yes, I can't deny that, but I didn't hear you complaining yesterday about sticky messes when you whacked me off in front of a bonfire in a humid swamp.” Again, Hawkwood sat half way up, supporting himself on his elbows and angled his pelvis up into the hand around their cocks.

“What even gave you the idea?” Hawkwood asked, seemingly dropping the pretense of protest. His eyes were intent on watching Adrian's hand, and every couple of beats he thrust up again and hissed at the friction of the hand and their two erections sliding against each other. Now thrusting into his own hand and against the other man's member, he replied, smiling and staring Hawkwood in the eye, “Well, I figured since I was taking you up on your, ah, offer, I'd level the playing field by using my estus to make our… sword fight more fair for you. You might have advantage in experience as well as the… hefty girth of your 'greatsword,' but I have the... boundless energy of youth and longer reach.” After he was done speaking, Adrian winked. 

He couldn't help laughing when Hawkwood slapped a hand over his forehead and groaned loudly. “You are terrible, terrible, utterly terrible,” he mock-admonished, dropping his hand to hide the smiling spreading across his face and the laughter rising from his chest. But it failed the hide the fact his entire face was turning bright red and his entire body quaked with amusement. “But you love the idea, otherwise you would have told me no,” Adrian quipped, biting his lower lip as Hawkwood's prick throbbed in response in his hands. Arching up into Adrian's hand movements, Hawkwood hissed, “It's just going to be a pain to get off, especially my body hair.”

Leaning forward and using his left hand to keep himself up, Adrian gave Hawkwood a languid kiss, sliding his tongue over the other man's lips and teasing his tongue with fleeting contact. Breaking away, he gasped, “Then we can wash off right after.” Sitting up, he began to slowly pour the thick fluid down onto their cocks, moaning at the sensation of its gentle warmth. Its scent, subtle but there, reminded him of citrus fruit, autumnal spices, and of course, fire. After a few erratic, faster pumps with his hand, he lowered himself and put both his hands on the side of Hawkwood's head. He pulled himself up so that their erections were touching. Laying his head down and wrapping his arms under Hawkwood's shoulders, he began thrusting against the other man.

Holding onto Adrian, Hawkwood ground up against him, moaning at the friction and the spreading warmth of the estus on his skin. “If you finish first, I win,” Adrian rasped against the crook of Hawkwood's neck, digging his knees into the hard floor as he slid up against him. At least the liquid was enhancing the pleasure. In response, Hawkwood dug his nails into Adrian's shoulder blades and writhed against him. “I didn't realize sex was a contest,” Hawkwood replied dryly, every other word punctuated with a deep, gasping breath or a moan of pleasure. Teasingly nibbling and suckling on his neck, Adrian said between loud smacks of his mouth, “Told you, this is a sword fight.” 

He could feel Hawkwood's chest vibrating as he began to chuckle beneath him. “As I said, terrible,” He slipped a hand between them, brought it up to Adrian's chest, then began pinching his nipples. He hissed and jerked erratically down up against Hawkwood. Sucking in a breath as Hawkwood lightly scratched at the sensitive, pink nubs, he gasped, “I see what you're trying to do.” Squeezing the side of Hawkwood with his legs, he turned them on their side and took them both in hand again with one hand and ran his fingers over the tip of Hawkwood's cock with the most delicate, fleeting touches with the other. What estus on them that hadn't started to go sticky leaked off their hips as they turned to the side. 

“Didn't realize it would already be tacky now. Damn. Guess I should have used oil after all,” Adrian laughed, leaning forward to plant kisses on Hawkwood's lips. Bucking his hips against Adrian, he feverishly returned the kisses. He gently ran his nails down Adrian's chest. “I believe I told you so,” he said before grabbing a fistful of Adrian's hair and kissing him again. He pushed his hips to meet Adrian's, making all sorts of wanton noises as their cocks slid against each other. Their own sweat and slick arousal now eased the friction of skin on skin.

“What does winning entail, anyways?” Hawkwood trilled in Adrian's ear, now running his hands through the other man's long waves. Sighing as Hawkwood rubbed up against him in a few shallow jolts, Adrian replied with a devious grin, “Well, in my case, you could yield by ah, spit polishing my sword.” He let himself get drawn into a long, greedy kiss that left him breathless. They parted with an obscene, wet noise from the unwinding of tongues. Gazing into Adrian's eyes with an expression he couldn't quite read beyond that it was warmer than mere fondness, Hawkwood replied quietly, “Well, you could always ask for that, you know.” He wrapped a leg firmly around Adrian.

“Ah, darling, but I'm doing exactly what I want to and I wasn't complaining,” Adrian replied, pumping his fist as fast as he competently could down their touching lengths. Hawkwood's mouth dropped open and his eyes closed for a split second. Releasing his grip from Adrian's hair, he flipped Adrian onto his back and straddled him with a smile. One of his hands joined Adrian's, and the other raked through his own hair, anchoring himself to reality. Adrian couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight of Hawkwood panting and sweaty from what they were doing to each other. Even the dried estus on his skin made him look tantalizing. 

For a moment, he thought he had the upper hand when Hawkwood threw his head back and his hand's motions shuddered and he writhed, and oh did he writhe and did it feel fucking godly. Adrian took to clenching both his hands on one of Hawkwood's powerful thighs. But then Hawkwood dropped his head, looked into his eyes with the slightest and yet the most wily smile Adrian had seen on… well, anyone but himself. Hawkwood leaned forward and began alternating between sucking on, biting on, and pressing kisses to his collar bones. His tongue dipped until his clavicles, hitching Adrian's breath. Adrian arced his back up in desperate need, feeling his completion near.

“Fuck fuck fuck, you bastard, fuck,” Adrian cursed, his fingernails boring painful crescents into Hawkwood's pale, muscular flesh. He shuddered beneath Hawkwood as the man bit along the side of Adrian's neck. Ceasing jerking them both of them off and pushing himself up with his other hand, Hawkwood asked teasingly, “Oh, you want me to stop, now do you?” Whining at the loss, Adrian wrapped his legs around Hawkwood's hips. He placed quick taunting bites on Hawkwood's chin and whimpered in an unseemly high pitched voice, “Hawkwood, not now, not when I'm so close.”

With an utmost serious expression but with a glint in his eyes that suggested otherwise, Hawkwood leaned backwards back onto his knees, releasing his grip from both of their lengths. Twisting an eyebrow, he said, “Oh, I dare.” Looking down at Adrian, Hawkwood cupped his face while he wrapped his fingers around his lonesome cock. He began stroking, agonizingly slow, all the while watching Adrian's expression. Adrian couldn't help but pout like a child denied a cookie and try to press up against Hawkwood. “Please, I was so close, Hawkwood,” he protested, making his voice sound extra piteous, tracing lines on Hawkwood's skin lazily.

Hawkwood still stared down at him with the same still fake-stern expression, but began pumping his cock faster. Staring at him with pleading eyes, Adrian choked off a needy whine and snaked his hands around to grope Hawkwood's ass. “Now that's just adorable,” Hawkwood purred, using his other hand to fondle his sac, “I have to commend you for your ability to sulk. Must be finely honed through many years of training.” Adrian felt like he was going to die watching the titillating show and gulped. His throat was drier than bone ash. He considered reaching down to stroke himself, but he wanted to be brought to the brink and beyond by Hawkwood.

“Now, how about I catch you up so you might stand a chance?” Hawkwood asked with just a glimmer of a smug smile, slowly dragging his fingers up to wring out a droplet of pre-cum out of his cock. “Oh gods, yes, please. I want you, I want you, please,” Adrian rambled, chewing on his lower lip and frantically kneading Hawkwood's buttocks. Grinning, Hawkwood let go of his own straining member to begin working Adrian's leaking length fast, smiling wider as Adrian fumbled for obscenities and jolted upwards. Adrian closed his eyes tight and thrust up into the sensation.

While Adrian's eyes were still shut as he sought to intensify the feeling, Hawkwood briefly released his grip to slot their lengths together and began fluidly stroking the both of them. His other hand then slammed to the ground so he could tilt forward and lock lips with Adrian. After returning the kiss, Adrian tensed up and clenched his teeth. “Adrian, let yourself go for me,” Hawkwood murmured in his ear, stroking his hair and thrusting into his hand and against Adrian's throbbing need. It was too much. Curling his toes, jerking his head back, and sinking his nails into Hawkwood's firm buttocks, Adrian spurted onto his stomach and chest with a long, guttural moan.

He felt pretty wrung out, and just laid there in a satisfied, slightly sticky, tousled stupor. His hands dropped from their place on his lover's buttocks onto the ground, limp.

Adrian felt Hawkwood press a kiss to his forehead and smooth back his hair. “I still can't believe you desire me,” he said in awe above Adrian. He didn't need to open his eyes to see if Hawkwood was smiling; he could all but hear it in his voice. “Do you want me to bring you to completion?” Adrian asked, opening up his eyes and looking up at his lover with a tired smile. He propped himself up onto his elbows and cringed at the feeling of cooling globules of his own semen rolling off of him. 

“Let me clean up the mess on you first,” Hawkwood replied, rolling off of Adrian and searching through his bag. He pulled out a kerchief and began cleaning off the other man's chest and stomach first, then wiped off Adrian's crotch. The sensation was far too much, and almost painful, against his oversensitive, exhausted flesh. So, in an automatic response, he thrashed a little and whimpered as Hawkwood so tenderly cleaned him up. Then, Hawkwood gingerly wrapped the bit of cloth up in the rucksack.

“Surprised you're going to keep that. By the time we get back to Firelink it'll be dry and harder than diamond and thoroughly unusable as anything other than fuel,” Adrian said, sitting up and rubbing Hawkwood's shoulders. He could feel Hawkwood practically melt into his touch. Sighing, equal parts content and protesting, he scoffed, “I'm not just going to leave it on the ground.” Kneading his shoulder blades with his palm, Adrian kissed up and down the vertebrae of his neck.

“Mmm, how would you have me relieve you of the aching burden of your flesh?” he asked in the most seductive voice he could muster, his eyes still feeling heavy with sex exhaustion, with a lopsided grin, looking over Hawkwood's shoulder and down at his still tumescent penis. The reddened tip, with a small bead of translucent fluid peaking from the slit, pointed up at him, as if beckoning to be sucked and lapped upon. Kissing the side of Adrian's face, Hawkwood quipped, “Well, I happen to enjoy the labors of that egregiously depraved mouth of yours. What did you say earlier in reference to yourself? Something about 'spit polishing?'” He gently took hold of Adrian's chin in one hand and swept his fingers over Adrian's lips in other.

Letting go, Hawkwood remained sitting upright though he spread his legs and clasped his erection at the base with his right hand. Without needing any more encouragement, Adrian left Hawkwood's back to slide up between the man's legs on his stomach. Grinning up at Hawkwood, he began bobbing his head up and down the length quickly, swirling his tongue on the head every time his head reached the tip again. After seeing Hawkwood visibly twitch at each flick of Adrian's tongue, he then repeatedly lapped at the head, occasionally applying suction and angling his head around.

It didn't take long before Hawkwood bucked up into his mouth and tensed up considerably. One of his hands took a strong grip of his hair. He gazed up at Hawkwood, who looked down at him with slightly parted lips, damp hair, and had considerably ruddy cheeks. Though smiling up at him with the thick flesh in his mouth would be unlikely, if not all together impossible, and he was loath to cease his activity, Adrian winked up at him, letting the other man know he was enjoying pleasuring him, even if it wasn't quite stirring his loins again so soon. He continued gently sucking and sliding his tongue over the large, smooth tip, occasionally tonguing where it and the foreskin met the rest, noting all the different noises pouring out of Hawkwood now, and his enthusiastic shallow thrusting into Adrian's mouth. 

“Oh gods your mouth,” he cried out stridently, his grasp on Adrian's hair becoming more of a painful pull. Sensing that Hawkwood was at the edge of release, he circled his right index finger and thumb around the base and began stroking in time with the bouncing of his head. Within mere moments, he felt the cock in his mouth first twitch, then pulse, filling his mouth with the taste of slightly bitter salt and an aftertaste of estus; Hawkwood clutched at his head with both hands and shouted Adrian's name. His eyes rolled back slightly, and his entire body went slack save for the occasional tremble. Adrian found himself breathless at the beauty of the sight.

Pulling away with a loud, wet pop, Adrian wrapped his arms around Hawkwood and steadied him. “You know, I care about you, and more than just in the 'I enjoy having ridiculously satisfying sex with you' sort of way. And I'm not just saying this because, well, you know,” he said softly, kissing Hawkwood's cheek. Once Hawkwood's eyes opened, he grinned bashfully. Dragon School didn't exactly prepare him for matters of the heart, nor did becoming Undead provide him with information. “You've gone out of your way to help me even if I can be an intolerable shit, and I can't repay you enough for that,” he continued, feeling slightly awkward but still wanting to say it at the same time. A strong arm slipped around him and held him tight.

“Ah, fuck it, who cares, I'll get to the point” Adrian heartily laughed out of embarrassment, feeling a considerable heat in his cheeks, “I love you. There's no one I'd rather be with. I don't care if it's sudden.” He kissed Hawkwood again on the cheek and pulled him into a full embrace. The naked man he held onto chuckled and, in turn, circle both his arms around him. “Under ordinary circumstance, I'd pretend to argue that you have no inkling as to the weight of what you're speaking of but I'm far too spent, so instead: I love you too,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse from exhaustion.

“Come on then, let us get our armor on and wash off so we can sleep at Firelink before you place the last of the Cinders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little long (fifteen pages and almost 10k words to be a little more exact) but I don't feel like cutting it up. The next chapter will be the finale.
> 
> And thanks for all the kudos, comments, and views! I'm stoked I've reached 1k views.


	13. Here I Go, Impossible Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian sets out to complete his task of let the First Flame fade in mercy. Not alone, of course.
> 
> Fair warning: does have a bit of smut at the beginning.

Adrian woke up twined around Hawkwood with an arm draped across the man's bare chest and his legs curled up and slotted into the space made by the other's legs. The night before, he remembered draping the blanket over them, covering them from the waist down, and save small clothes (he put some on by request), neither of them had anything on. Despite that, Adrian, at least, had remained warm over night, pressed so close to his slumbering lover. Though he had rolled out his bedroll in addition to Hawkwood's, both of them were laying on only one again. Neither of them minded.

Breathing in the clean scent of his lover's skin and hair, Adrian sighed, tempting to close his eyes again and drift back to sleep. Half of him was tempted to say sod it, and the other half chided him for his sloth in the face of his duty, especially so close to fulfillment. Surely, he could lay there a bit longer and enjoy cuddling with his faintly snoring partner in the dim light of the Shrine. He didn't want to leave his side at all, not after being without Hawkwood for so long, and not after being presented with the possibility of never seeing him again. 

Adrian glided his hands across the sleeping man's pectorals, ignoring his nipples (that bridged the line of what he was comfortable doing to someone sleeping), memorizing the surprising softness of the curls of hair there. Then, he slid his hand down to the man's flat stomach to his navel. At this rate, he'd be stabbing Hawkwood's sleeping form in the lower back with his burgeoning erection. He sucked in a harsh breath to calm himself, and then hugged the man's chest. While he always had a fierce libido, the man sleeping in front of him soared it to new levels. At this point, he was fairly certain it was higher than it was when he was in his late teens, though he was reasonably sure it didn't come with the added benefit of having a low refractory period.

He released Hawkwood and rolled over carefully, as not to disturb Hawkwood or accidentally take the blanket with him. Instead of suffering the whole morning (if it was indeed still morning, it was hard to tell from there), he decided he'd relieve the pressure in his loins. It would be like Dragon School all over again in which during the late nights and early mornings he could lay in bed, back to the rest of the dormitory, with one hand furiously pumping up and down the length of his turgid penis and the other in between his teeth, hoping to not alert the other young men who shared the room. Not that an audience bothered him back then, but he had preferred to be on good terms with his roommates. 

No, he didn't particularly care if Patches in the opposite alcove saw him. After all, spectators didn't bother him in the least, and he knew that Hawkwood was all too familiar with that fact.

Adrian yanked his soft black small clothes down past his tightly drawn testicles. Licking the palm of his left hand, he rubbed the slickness over the leaking tip and over the delicate prepuce. He repeated the motions until he was satisfied with the amount of lubrication, then began stroking himself, light but fast. His eyes closed, his teeth gnashed, and he didn't even have to fabricate any mental images to fixate on. It was easy enough being a finger width away from his lover's almost naked form. 

Though he tried to be as quiet as he could, anyone close enough could hear the sounds of his wrist working his partly spit glossed cock, the faint wet noises from both the spit lubricating flesh and the production of preliminary fluids, the louder sound of fabric rapidly shifting. Adrian considered flicking the blanket off of him; the heat it was producing in tandem with his amorous activity was beginning to make him sweat. Pulling on his own hair with his other hand, he bucked his hips into his left. He bit on his lower lip hard and drew blood, partly out of effort to not wake Hawkwood with his desperate whimpering, partly because of just how rapturous the pain felt, partly because of the heady tang of iron. 

He could feel his climax horrifically close, looming in the base of his genitals and spiraling out in constant ecstatic pressure. 

Though he might have been quite fixated on his task, he did hear Hawkwood stirring behind him, softly grunting. Bones popped as Hawkwood likely stretched in bed. Beside him, he felt a hand reach for him in the space beside and failing, then find place on his waist under the blanket. Adrian managed to bite his lip harder, renewing the flow of blood (oh that red, beautiful red), and dropped his head forward. Loose, messy waves of hair draped in front of his face and brushed up against his nose and lips. He felt the a small blow of air as Hawkwood flipped over away from him, then snuggled up to him with the tip of his nose cold against Adrian's neck. Forgetting the pretense of quiet, Adrian let himself slip a resonating groan out of his throat as Hawkwood squeezed his right shoulder. His mind reeled at being 'caught,' and it sent him over the edge.

“Oh fuck,” Adrian whimpered breathlessly as he spilled over his fingers and shuddered against the other man's frame, “Hawkwood, oohhh Hawkwood.” An arm slipped around him and embraced him tightly. Stroking the side of Adrian's face with the back of a finger, Hawkwood cooed teasingly, his voice made all the more gravelly by his lingering grogginess, “Hmm, aren't you insatiable? Could you not wait?” Adrian was slowly catching his breath, and shook his head. He opened his eyes, then turned to face Hawkwood to languidly kiss him. Using his free hand, he dug through one of the near by bags, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped off his left hand and crotch.

“I'm sorry I woke you,” he laughed weakly, resting his head against the very top of Hawkwood's chest. That was so incredibly comfortable, and he didn't want it to end. Wrapping his arms around him snugly, Hawkwood kissed his hair and stroked his back. “It's fine,” he replied, sighing as Adrian nuzzled along his sternum, “Besides, I usually rise earlier than this.” Adrian squirmed against him. “I didn't want to get distracted later, not that you aren't one incredibly nice distraction,” Adrian admitted, wrapping an arm around Hawkwood and resting his cheek against one of the man's pectorals. 

“As precious as it is that you keep trying to bury yourself into my chest despite the logistics of an attempt being entirely wrong, we need to, or rather, you need to rise,” Hawkwood gently reminded and nudged Adrian a little. Without needing any more prompting, Adrian sat up, allowing the blanket to drape off him and reveal his exposed groin, his small clothes still lowered to expose them. Even with everything they had done together, it made Hawkwood flush faintly. Adrian then unceremoniously pulled off the offending article of clothing and stood up. “I'll go put on my armor, then,” he yawned, twirling the item of clothing around on his right index finger.

Leaning against the wall, he began to pull on his trousers one leg at a time and watched Hawkwood similarly stand and begin to stretch. Adrian smirked salaciously from ear to ear as he laced up the leather, wondering silently if Hawkwood knew how good he looked, especially at that moment. As he began to put on the knee caps, Hawkwood began to slip on his armor beside him and suddenly stopped lacing up the pants, arching an eyebrow at Adrian. It was severe enough (whether mock or not) that Adrian stopped smiling.

“Surely I can ogle the man I knew the night before. And the night before that, come to mention it,” Adrian protested wryly, noting that Hawkwood was still giving him that unamused look as the man put on his own boots and buckled on his own knee caps. Sighing, Adrian slipped on the chainmail chest piece, shivering at the sensation of the cold metal hitting his skin. “Pout all you want, I'm not going to allow you to distract yourself,” Hawkwood replied, giving Adrian a chaste kiss on the cheek before sliding on the rest of his armor. 

After both had all of their armor on (and the hat, if that even counted to Hawkwood), Adrian pivoted his body to face Hawkwood, who had his arms folded and looked at him expectantly, and asked, “So, I believe the day before I only asked you if you'd join me for the fight. Well… would you please join me, again, for whatever may happen after I return Lothric to his rightful throne?” He put his hands on his angled hips with a serious expression on his face. Adrian supposed if he really wanted to, he'd offer Hawkwood a particularly charming smile and touch his forearm, but he figured it would be overkill considering how the other man already felt about him. 

Tilting his head up, Hawkwood gave Adrian a cursory glance. He leaned slightly towards Adrian and reached for one of his wrists; the faintest of smiles curled the left side of his mouth and his expression softened considerably. It was moments like that when he almost looked like a completely different person. With a widening, affectionate grin, he slid his hand over Adrian's and replied teasingly, “Hmm, and why would I want to bereft of you?” Adrian twined his fingers with Hawkwood's.

“I'm sure if we wait any longer, you'll think of a few reasons,” he joked, giving Hawkwood's hand a good squeeze before bending over to pick up his twinblades and his catalyst. After he buckled them to his pants, he pressed his back into the wall, folded his arms, and tapped his foot. Rolling his eyes, Hawkwood retrieved his Farron greatsword and the dagger off the floor. As he shot Adrian an only half-serious glare, hauled the greatsword over his right shoulder and clutched the dagger in his left hand firmly. 

“Guess I'll lead the way since I'm the one with the prince's head,” Adrian muttered with a voice rife with facetiousness as he began to amble towards the stairs, throwing Hawkwood a fond glance over his shoulders. Soon after, he heard the gentle footsteps of Hawkwood's leather boots behind him on the stone as he climbed down the stairs back to the main entrance of Firelink, then turned and went down the stairs to the left. From there, he walked up the set up stairs behind the thrones of Saint Aldrich of the Deep and Ludleth the Exiled to the throne at the top.

Adrian read the engraving in the back, like he did every time he went past the damned thing. It never failed to instill sorrow.

Holy King Lothric, last hope of his line.

What a surprisingly loaded sentence. Lothric had died as a prince, and would never see himself as king. He was supposed to offer himself as Cinder, but never did. Lothric's words rang in his ears from the first time he stepped into that room. 'The fire linking curse' and 'this spot marks our grave' played over and over. And yet, somehow it was inconsequential that he had no intentions on linking the First Flame. 

If it hadn't occurred to him before, he had very little say in any of this. His agency was almost nonexistent; the only agency he had was the decision on whether or not to link the flame, and the only reason why he had that choice in the first place was because he refuse to let things lie.

Frowning, Adrian placed the head and cinders of Prince Lothric on his throne, recalling things Hawkwood had said what felt a lifetime ago. Certainly, it irritated Adrian that he had to kill the brat in order to bring them back to his throne to fulfill his duty as a Lord of Cinder, but he had to begun wondering why all but one had fled. And save dread Aldrich (such sweet revenge on such filth), devourer of Darkmoon Gwyndolin, he hadn't truly relished in killing any of them. Not the Abyss Watchers (poor Hawkwood), Yhorm the Giant (poor Seigward), nor Prince Lothric.

He must have been staring at the now occupied throne (by ashes and a severed head, no less) for a while because he heard Hawkwood shift uncomfortably behind him. Eventually, Hawkwood cleared his throat. “Ah, forgive me,” Adrian explained, peering over his shoulder to look at Hawkwood through his peripheral vision with a sheepish, tiny smile, “Just… ahh, recollecting conversations from closer to when we first met.” Turning to face his companion, he released a deep sigh as he glanced over Hawkwood's intrigued countenance. 

“I'm allowed to have doubts, you know. Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop,” Adrian stated with a shrug as he began to tread down the opposite set of stairs. By now, he was fairly certain Patches was watching from above; he felt the man's gaze up and down his skin like a brand. Hawkwood followed closely behind. “I never asked you why you, ahem, put on an act that one night,” he question as they both stepped onto the ash of the ground floor, “If your feelings were mutual, why did you make such a vulgar gesture of contempt?” His entire body faced Adrian.

“Well,” he replied, biting back a mischievous smile and looking him in the eyes, “Because I'm a tease, and you're irresistibly cute when flustered. I think you were so red in the face I could see you glow from across the room.” Adrian gripped Hawkwood's right shoulder with the metal gauntlet and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. The resulting stammering from the other man was completely worth the honesty. Adrian playfully tut-tutted. “I'm not sure how you didn't expect that was the answer, sweeting,” he teased, sliding the hand from the man's shoulder to the left half of his waist. It took a surprisingly small amount of willpower to avoid straying the hand down to give the man's tight buttocks a good squeeze.

He could do that later.

“But anyways, so you can't accuse me of stalling, I'll go over and get the last few things in motion,” Adrian asserted, tilting his head down to give Hawkwood a quick kiss on his nose before gliding over to the Fire Keeper who stood close by the bonfire. His back faced the fire, and the resulting warmth steadied his nerves. Even with the band across her head where her eyes would be, she reacted to his presence as though she could see, looking up at his face as she spoke as though looking into his eyes.

“The five lords sit their five thrones. All thanks to three, most worthy of lords. Ashen one, with the Lords as thy witness, bend thy knee afore the bonfire's coiled sword. And let the Lords' embers acknowledge thee as their true heir. A true lord, fit to link the fire.”

By then, Hawkwood had wandered to his side and threaded a hand through his right. Adrian gave him a glance seeking permission in addition to a wordless expression of his devotion. As an assassin, he knew too well the power of actions, and how meaningless words could be in comparison. Like an answer, Hawkwood gave his hand a quick squeeze before releasing it to allow Adrian to kneel.

His heart beat a thunderous tune in his chest as he knelt before the bonfire, seeing the Fire Keeper turn in the corner of his eyes and Hawkwood join beside him. They joined hands without uttering a single word to one another. Abruptly, the Cinders of the Lords, as well as lonely Ludleth, noisily burst into flames. Once more, the Fire Keeper spoke, but this time to address the Lords of Cinder.

“Noble Lords of Cinder. The fire fades… and the lords go without thrones.”

The room went dark, and the fires that had blazed on the thrones began streaming to the Fire Keeper, who offered them her open hands. She gazed down at them, then turned towards Adrian.   
“Surrender your fires… to the true heir.

Hovering her hand over his head, she began to slowly channel them in Adrian.

“Let him grant death… to the old gods of Lordran, deliverers of the First Flame.”

When he opened his eyes, he knew they were no longer in Firelink, or more accurately, no longer in their old Firelink. After all, he had already seen an alternate Firelink, a Firelink of the past that Ludleth had told him about when he brought up the eyes of the Fire Keeper he had found. The room was almost pitch black, save the weak light filtering in from the main archway, and the air was still but frigid. Releasing his grasp of Hawkwood's hand, he stood up, with Hawkwood soon following the motion. 

“What is this place?” Hawkwood asked, hooking an arm around Adrian's left. His voice echoed faintly in the dark cavernous room. “This is Firelink. Just not the Firelink we know,” Adrian answered, finally able to see the outlines of objects in the dark void of the room. Regardless, he quickly cast a light spell with his staff, illuminating the room good enough to see where they were going without bumping into each other or objects. Everything was much the same, except all the passages, save the main entrance, of course, were collapsed, and there was no one else but the two of them.

Loudly making noises of thought as he looked around the room, Hawkwood declared out loud, “I suppose the only way to go would be through there.” He pointed towards the only way out, from which the weakest of light streamed through. Adrian clicked his tongue and began to lead them up the stairs to the entrance.

The sight outside was enough to slacken his jaw and silence him for a moment.

Much like the sky of all but their Firelink, the sun was eclipsed, however there was a bright red streak leading all the way down to the horizon. To the left, was the jumbled remains of what appeared to be Lothric Castle and the High Wall, all stacked up in nonsense nightmare geometry, with things on their sides that shouldn't be and others at impossible angles. And, if that weren't enough, outside there was nothing left of the Cemetery of Ash save for a ledge. 

“So this is what the end of the world really looks like,” Adrian thought out loud in wonder, staring at both the eldritch ruins of Lothric and the mountain peaks in the distance as he plod out onto the ledge. He felt dwarfed and insignificant by the great amount of nothing he could see on the horizon. If he had any doubts before at the enormity of his task, well, it really sank in at that moment. Eventually, he felt Hawkwood tug on his left arm. Turning towards Hawkwood, his eyes followed in the direction the other man was pointing at: an already kindled bonfire.

They approached the bonfire together, with Adrian leading. Before he used it to travel to what he figured was probably the Kiln of the First Flame, Hawkwood slid his arm down to tangle his right hand in Adrian's left, caring not that the metal kept both of them from enjoying the full experience of holding hands. After giving Adrian a permissive nod, Adrian held his right palm over the bonfire, and both of them vanished from that area.

Their destination was on the base of a gigantic hill of ash high above the ground, with partially melted ruins of buildings and gnarled roots on either side of the path way up to what looked like a horizontally cut archtree. Behind them, they could see a similar arrangement of ruined, impossible architecture of Lothric. Like the air in the Firelink Shrine they had just been inside, it was quite chilly, though not quite as bad as Irithyl had been.. He actually found himself pulling Hawkwood towards him in order to huddle up against him.

Shivering slightly, Adrian addressed Hawkwood somberly, “I don't know what waits for up atop of the hill. If you wish to leave now for any reason, I would understand.” Then, he gestured to the bonfire behind them, the only way out of here other than using a homeward bone or dying. He meant it, even though it wasn't what he wanted and even though he suspected Hawkwood wouldn't leave him now, not after what they had been through. Still, he left it as an option. As he expected, Hawkwood shook his head. He released Adrian's hand to spin to face him, then reached up to touch him on his cheek.

“I gave you my answer earlier, and I intend to stick to it. I've seen what you're capable of first hand,” Hawkwood replied with a small smile before patting his cheek and letting go. Grinning lopsidedly, Adrian said, “Just checking. Then I'll continue leading, then.” He couldn't lie; he was definitely nervous, more so because he had no idea what to actually expect when he got to the crest of the hill. Still, he began to march forward, silently pleased. 

Walking up the hill of cinders was a little harder than one would initially think. Adrian suspected it would be a bit like walking up a huge sand dune, with the way it shifted against his weight. It made the slightest of crunching sounds beneath their feet, though the further up the hill they got, the less ash they walked on and the more stone path they ended up treading on. Oddly enough, the further up they climbed, the warmer it began to get. By the time they were almost at a set of stairs right before the crest, it felt almost no different in temperature than the mild Cemetery of Ash. 

Adrian found himself torn and transfixed by the tragically beautiful sight.

A tall wall of bark surrounded the entire circumference of the cross-section of archtree, but this wasn't what was so breathtaking, nor was it that it was a gigantic ash pit with a kneeling figure far away towards the center. No. It was the bright white flowers all around the perimeter, burning bright red, orange, and yellow, little pretty petaled embers. What they cast their gaze upon was all that was left of the world, flowers and archtrees and the haphazardly arranged ruins of civilization.

Adrian drew his sorcerer staff first to cast the crystal augmentation onto his twinblades. He had a sneaking suspicion that the figure (which appeared to be in some sort of knight's armor, but at that distance he couldn't be certain) was the First Flame's guardian. “I don't suppose that fellow would care if we let the flame die, huh?” he tittered as he clutched his softly singing glowing weapons. Unsheathing his weapons, Hawkwood responded a bit gruffly, “Be on guard.” 

Taking a deep breath to still his pounding heart, Adrian stepped forward, crushing ash beneath his boots. In fact, it sounded a bit more than just walking across ash; it sounded like he was walking onto something still burning, hissing with heat and energy. Certainly felt that way too; as they walked more and more towards the center, it warmer it got. It wasn't truly sweltering, but it was perceptible.

As they crept closer, the kneeling figure stood, and pulled a coiled sword out of the ground. The dark, brassy metal of the sword began glowing and shooting off embers and flames. And Adrian's assessment had been somewhat correct; the figure wore some kind of knight's armor, though he couldn't recognize it, not even the dark red fabric, and the helm almost looked like it had a crown on top. The edges of the faded red fabric as well as the armor were glowing orange and yellow, as it made of embers, making the guardian of the First Flame look thematically appropriate as well as minatory. And somehow, the armor looked gaunt, skeletal even, and just as worn as the rest of the world.

Neither of the two men had much time to ponder before it stormed towards Adrian, its footsteps clanking loudly. It hefted the coiled sword back to slam it down vertically, flinging brilliant orange flames into the air, and missed Adrian who had enough time to swivel around to avoid it. Before the armored sentinel could follow up, Adrian quickly raked his twinblades across its back before backing away. At the same time, Hawkwood cautiously approached from the side, and swung his greatsword before also giving the foe considerable breadth. It quickly sliced through the air at Adrian and the coiled sword grazed his left shoulder; the reach of the weapon was deceptively long, especially given that it was producing fire every swing.

No sooner did it quickly repeat its actions, this time hitting Adrian from shoulder to shoulder across the top of his chest. And hell, did it hurt given the amount of force put into it, not to mention the fire he'd have to immediately put out if it ignited his armor. Burning leather and hair wasn't a very pleasant or appetizing smell. Bloody thing was as aggressive as he was. Guess he'd have to treat it like the Twin Princes fight, mostly dodging with the rare attack. Once the sentinel dropped its stance, Adrian rolled away to take a drink from his estus, allowing Hawkwood to step in and attack in his stead. 

In a quick flick of flames, the coiled sword transformed before their eyes into what looked like a large curved sword. Soon after the change, the sentinel of the First Flame back-flipped away from both the charging figures of both Adrian and Hawkwood. But once Adrian, slightly quicker to react, neared the sentinel, instead of evading once more, it rapidly swung the sword, leaped into the air diagonally as Adrian dodged and began backing up, then flung it again. The uppercut caught across his chest, causing a new flair of pain, but at least it felt like it had less impact than the previous form of the coiled sword.

When the deft flurry of the curved coiled sword ceased, Hawkwood darted to the side and behind it and carefully watched it strafe in front of Adrian as it clearly contemplated some sort of plan. While it began to move forward, Hawkwood rushed in with his greatsword as Adrian ran backwards (without tripping over the various ash dunes, flowers, or shards of archtree jutting out of the ash, one might add). Adrian watched as the man flung his Farron greatsword over his shoulder and onto the shoulder and backside of the guardian.

It staggered, then fell onto its knees. Both of the men used that opportunity to unleash a pair of attacks before backing off. They gave each other fleeting glances and returned nods as it began to stand up, then swiftly flicked the curved sword, causing it to reconfigure into a coiled lance. Pivoting quite deftly on its heels, the guardian pulled the lance back and began plowing towards Hawkwood with the tip of it aimed straight for his chest. Adrian was finding the battle fascinating, invigorating, and tense. 

As he panted and rushed to catch up to the 'knight,' the very tip of the long lance stabbed into Hawkwood's left collarbone. Even with the chainmail preventing it from puncturing flesh, it hurt; the man yowled in pain the second it impacted. Adrian ground his teeth together as he began to slap the back of the sentinel with his twinblades in a frenzy. Instead of changing target, its attention remained on Hawkwood; it held back the lance as though in a stance, then slung it in a circle that trailed ignited air behind it. Luckily, it only grazed Hawkwood, and sliced a shallow groove across his the curve of his neck, right below the laryngeal prominence. Within moments, droplets of dark red emerged from the wound. Hawkwood produced a harsh hiss of pain.

“Stubborn cur!” Adrian roared in frustration, surging after the 'knight' that served not a king, but the Flame. It pulled back its lance, just slowly enough that when it attempted to jab Hawkwood again, he had just enough time to jerk out of the way to avoid it and guzzle at his estus flask. The recovery was slow enough that Adrian gave its back a good few whacks before the guardian of the First Flame jolted the weapon back again, not to attack but to morph the blade into a much shorter shape. At first, Adrian wasn't quite sure what he was looking at, until it rose it over its head and waved five glowing crystalline orbs hovering above its head into existence.

It would have been almost comical in any other situation that the sentinel had such an amazing array of abilities up its sleeve.

After it cast its spell, it turned to face Adrian. Instead of lurching forward like its many other forms had, it raised the coiled staff above its head. Not waiting to see what magic it would unleash, Adrian rolled forward, dodging the crystalline magical spear that materialized and crashed into the ground he previously occupied. But he had little time to recover; moments after he hopped onto his feet, the guardian called forth an enormous, glowing blue greatsword, and swung it at Adrian. It knocked him off his feet with a stunned howl and onto his back side. 

He struggled to right himself, eventually doing so with a loud, pained grunt. At least he heard Hawkwood barreling towards it, his crunching and crackling foot steps few and far between but fast, as he stood up and drank from his estus. A startling banging of metal against metal filled his ears, then the distinctive sound of magic being cast, then the sharp smell of ozone followed. On the other side of the arena, the guardian had cast a barrage of small magical projectiles at Hawkwood. Fortunately for him, he managed to roll right through it without being stunned or hit.

Squeezing the hilts of his twinblades, he returned to the fray with mussed hair beneath his Pharis's hat and ash-smudged armor. The ash beneath his feet kicked up as he dashed over to the side of the 'knight' and Hawkwood. Again, its coiled staff became the hilt of a large, blue magical greatsword, which it swung once before it dissipated and hit neither. Both of them had dodge through the spell, and swiftly closed the distance between them and the sentinel. Not long after, and they rained ringing blows upon its metal armor.

Adrian, and Hawkwood, he suspected, had expected the sentinel to keel over when it lowered its body, but quickly realized how wrong that assumption was. The sentinel changed the staff back into a sword plunged the it into the ground. Adrian could practically feel the enormous amount of energy it was channeling, and, indeed, felt the heat that was beginning to emanate both from the sentinel and the weapon. Instead of waiting to see what it was doing, he began to flee away from the area. Though clearly confused with a creased brow, Hawkwood wordlessly copied him.

Precious moments later, a burst of blazes swirled from the sword, scorching quite a large circumference around it. Even outside of its range, Adrian felt both the heat and the air movement it produced against his skin and armor. The sentinel, now wreathed in flames itself, wrenched the sword out of the ground and flourished the burning weapon maliciously. With the fizzing and rumbling and of licking orange flames and the jangling of metal armor, the ignited yet not burning sentinel erupted into action, storming adamantly towards Adrian.

After it closed a considerable distance, it jumped into the air, and slammed down an overhead swing with the flaming coiled sword into the ash, missing Adrian by a fraction of a section as he swiftly reacted and hopped to the side. Though Hawkwood didn't have enough time to rush over and attempt to land a blow on the sentinel before it got back on its feet, Adrian had just enough time to sling his blades across its side before backing off. The guardian wasted no time in promptly swiveling around and landing an agonizing kick to his stomach. He reeled backwards into a thin, protruding portion of archtree wood and broke it into several pieces as he fell.

Groaning as his belly and buttocks blossomed into full blown smarting, he quickly gulped some estus flask before standing again. Like in the Oceiros fight, Hawkwood took up the mantle of attracting the attention of the guardian without Adrian so much as bellowing for assistance. And my, wasn't he a sight, darting between the flick of flames and twisted steel, flinging his Farron greatsword across the glowing sentinel's corroded-looking armor? Not that he had much time to sit and admire how exceptionally dashing he looked at that particular moment. He pulled himself out of the debris and then made his way to where his lover fought.

At least it appeared to be too busy trying to hit Hawkwood to notice him coming up from the side. When it turned its back to summon forth a brilliant yellow bolt of lightning in its hand to hurl at Hawkwood, he swung the twinblades down its back. Thank Darkmoon Gwyndolin that Hawkwood had been strafing when the sentinel had cast the miracle; it soared far into the distance and hit the wood surrounding the fray uselessly. Adrian didn't need to be shown twice as to why he should give the guardian space, and jumped back as it rose. As though reading into his mind as to more things he should be looking for, it sprung into the air and arced its blade down diagonally, missing Adrian as he slid underneath and ducked.

Whew, but all the running and dodging making him sweat, and the fire wasn't helping. Also, he was fairly certain he was smudged with ash and blood, or rather, more accurately, blood and ash were smudged with him. At least he'd look the part of a hero, gods willing made no less debonair by the markings of a triumphant battle.

Both of them were on the valiant guardian, silently syncing their blows together before retreating. It held onto its coiled sword with both hands and brought it back, its blade pointing up in the air. Then, it slung the blade through the air with an amazingly long flaming trail that knocked both of them flat onto their asses. And when he felt another searing gust of air above, Adrian knew to roll away from the guardian instead of trying to get into his feet. Beside him, Hawkwood rather quickly crawled forward. Another swing above their head soon followed, then a loud roar as the guardian thrust the sword into the ground, creating another large circular pulse of fire.

While it ended up not actually burning either of them, the resulting warmth was quite uncomfortable. Hawkwood and Adrian both stood and charged as the guardian yanked the sword out of the ashen ground. They ended up on almost opposite sides of it as they savaged it with their blades. Under his breath, Adrian swore. It felt like the goddamn thing just didn't want to die, dissipate, whatever it would do when they finally bested it. It was tenacious, and if it were literally a guardian of the First Flame, well, wouldn't that explain a lot?

From its hands clad in metal, it produced a lightning bolt that instead of hurling towards either of them, it threw up into the air. Thunder pealed loudly, and Adrian could feel the hair on the back of his neck raise. He didn't feel like waiting around to see what the miracle spell would beget, especially with the way his body felt, well, electrified. Without really knowing which direction to go, he starting swiftly strafing along the side of the guardian while Hawkwood first looked up at the sky and gawked.

He didn't need a cleric to tell him that there were multiple bolts of lightning chasing after him, nor did he need to look over his shoulder; he literally felt them make every hair stand on end, he could smell the burning ozone, and could hear the crackling of energy as he ran. When those sensations ceased, he finally stopped running. At least Hawkwood was no longer looking up with a somewhat open mouth. Actually, Hawkwood was now a bit occupied by skillfully maneuvering around and between the sword and its combusting blows. While they made a great pair, even on their own, they were quite proficient.

Not that he'd ever want a rematch on their duel to see which one of them was quote unquote more adept. 

Something had finally alerted him to the fact his twinblades no longer chimed, glow blue, or had crystals projecting from them. Since his lover didn't seem to have any trouble at the moment as he jerked out of the way of a grab, Adrian decided to reapply to spell to his swords. Once it was done, he dashed towards the guardian and didn't bother to stop when he plowed into it with his twinblades. Then, it happened; the body of the guardian violently twitched, went limp, and crashed into the ground, disintegrating into the white whirl of souls and ash. And from its ashes, emerged the coiled sword sticking out of the ground, bright white gold light glowing at its base and humming, as if pleading to be properly lit and kindled.

But he wouldn't link the Flame.

“Look,” he all but whispered to Hawkwood with a small smile of victory. Sitting slightly off to the sign was the distinct white glow of a soapstone sign. He remembered what the Fire Keeper had said to him, and touched it, activating it with his will. Within moments, the Fire Keeper manifested before the both of them. As though it were instinct, Adrian drew Hawkwood, still catching his breath, close. She looked straight ahead for a moment, then turned towards the fire. 

Striding over to it, she knelt and took the flame into her hand. All the light around them began to slowly dim. Beside him and linking an arm around one of his own, Hawkwood drew in a sharp breath. After a moment, the Fire Keeper began to speak.

“The First Flame quickly fades. Darkness will shortly settle.”

It then went alarmingly quiet for a moment, save faint ambient noises of their breathing, for the first time in ages, Adrian felt. Now all was dark except for that tiny flame that illuminated only the three and a scant distance away. 

“But one day, tiny flames will dance across the darkness. Like embers, linked by lords past.”

Silence filled the air like a murder of crows, and despite the darkness, Adrian felt incredibly at ease with it all. The hope that something new and vibrant would flourish some day made him even more determined that his choice was the right one, not some nefarious betrayal than Ludleth had spoken of. Either way, he would see what sort of legacy his actions would have. Even if he went…

No. He wouldn't go Hollow. At least, not now, filled with purpose, even a good portion of that purpose was standing right beside him silently.

“...Ashen One, hearest thou my voice, still?” the Fire Keeper asked after some time. 

Twining his hand with Hawkwood's, he softly, if a bit taciturn, replied, “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of you that have continued reading! I hope the conclusion was satisfactory. I'm actually a bit nervous about it, even though it's exactly what I set out to do. Maybe it's corny. I don't particularly care. I know Dark Souls is well, pretty nihilistic, and as much as I occasionally like to abuse my own characters, I hate it how so often gay romance is synonymous with tragedy. Just for once, I'd like to escape that. I have enough of it in my real life.
> 
> While this series is ended, it doesn't mean I'm opposed to ever writing shorts with this Ashen One of mine. Either way, I'm going to take a bit of a break!

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on tumblr under the same handle (darkmoonboar), though it's a secondary blog so I can't follow you back!


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